Reptilia
by Serpent P
Summary: Exhausted and bitter three weeks after the Aparoid Invasion, Fox finds himself drifting away from his team. He thought accepting a harmless mission from a Space Dynamics researcher would calm his nerves; instead, it forces him to rediscover himself and thrusts him into a world of piracy, politics, stalkers, business wars, and romance. Complete!
1. Is This It?

A/N: The title of this fic and the names of chapters are all titles of songs by The Strokes. The songs inspired the chapter content and overall work in some way. If you want, you can listen to these songs to kind of see where I'm coming from. For the most part, they fit the mood pretty well.

Disclaimer: This contains male/male romance. However, there is a large amount of story that occurs outside of the romantic elements, so I'd encourage you to keep reading even if that makes you uncomfortable. Hopefully you'll keep reading and be pleasantly surprised.

_**Is This It?  
**Can't you see I'm trying?_

"One of the few parts of town that doesn't look like shit, huh."

Falco's voice was barely louder than the quiet chugging of the Maglev train. Fox lifted his head up, seeing undisturbed vegetation and fully intact buildings zipping past at 560 kilometers per hour.

Fox responded with a simple, "Hmm," before looking back down at the magazine. He felt like Falco was smiling at him, but didn't bother to look up.

"Ya know, magazines aren't going to help ya deal with stress."

He didn't need to be reminded. In his hands in bold, black print, words kept taunting him.

Headlines:

"_Our Nation's Protectors…Until Death."_

Market:

"_Projected Cost of the Aparoid Invasion—37.8 billion credits: and that's Corneria City alone. After accounting for repair costs for multiple cities on multiple planets (the Fichina Climate Control Center, an investment you won't see put in good use in your or your children's lifetime, will cost you 22 billion credits out of your tax money), the total estimated cost comes to a whopping 2.6 trillion credits. The breakdown? Your—"_

Military:

"_With the unfortunate deaths of nearly all of the CDF members, everyone is wondering what happens next. How will the military be able to recruit thousands of new members after this appalling tragedy, and more importantly, how will Corneria stay safe until—"_

Headlines (continued):

"_A stone memorial to be constructed in the middle of Cornerian Square is planned on being constructed to remind us of those who gave their lives for—"_

Fox started to get nauseous—an indicator that the Maglev train was slowing down (_or stress was getting the better of him_). He shook the newspaper, folded it, and placed it in the container bolted to the wall above him. The Maglev crawled to a complete stop.

He was going to get up, but something tugged at the back of his shirt. "Not our stop," Falco said, pulling him back into the seat.

"You're kidding," Fox muttered, watching as other passengers got up, trying to squeeze out of the doors as others squeezed in. "We had to have been here for at least half an hour."

"It's only been seven minutes."

"_Damn it_." Fox scratched his head, tensing as the Maglev churned and began moving again. The process of having to read and interpret words _would_ have taken his mind off things, had everything he read not been about said things.

Three weeks ago, the Aparoid Queen was destroyed, and every single Aparoid in existence self-destructed.

Since then, he's attended about 3 different (_repetitive_) ceremonies and gala dinners celebrating his team for victory.

Since then, he's landed himself into millions of credits more debt (_that would probably have to be paid off via military service, damn it_) due to the destruction of the Great Fox.

Since then, he's managed to barely keep a relationship (_could he call it that? He wasn't sure_) at best rocky.

Since then, he's found out that Peppy, General Pepper, and Star Wolf were still alive, which would have been amazing (_it still was_) had he not found out that this implied _Pigma Dengar_ was still alive as well—

"C'mon, after the Lylat Wars you weren't this tense." Falco patted him on the back a little too hard. "Lighten up a bit."

Fox responded to this with his usual, "Hmm." He didn't know why he was so pissed off at everything. He just was, and everybody else seemed to be reacting to it.

His comm buzzed in his pocket. He fumbled around to pick it up, covering his left ear to hear better. "Hello?"

"Fox, where are you?" Peppy's familiar voice sounded slightly metallic from the speakers.

"I'm still on the train," he said, noticing Falco turn his head in interest. "I'm on my way."

"I've had meetings with Katina's and Aquas' Ministers of Defense, yet you're in the same city and still manage to be late?"

"The opposite side of the city, and besides, you can't expect much from me when you want to meet at 7:30 in the morning."

Fox heard a laugh on the other end. "Relax, it's fine. I do expect to see you shortly, though."

_Beep._ Fox sighed and put his phone back in his pocket. He lifted his head to see out of the window again; trees and vegetation disappeared, tall white buildings replacing them. He saw the deep-blue star emblem of the Cornerian Naval Base flash by on one of the buildings.

A few seconds later, he felt a bit dizzy again. He looked up, seeing walls and pillars of buildings slow down to a halt. The doors opened, and he walked into the terminal.

Normally, the subways and roads of the Cornerian Tactical Center, dubbed the CTC, weren't ever crowded. Today, the sound of footsteps and coats brushing against arms muffled the roar of the Maglev. People hauling briefcases, people mumbling into a comm., looking worried; Fox stopped bothering to mutter, "Pardon," after the fourth person he bumped into.

He jogged up the stairs leading outside. Despite the cloudy overcast and biting cold, the small rays of natural light were refreshing. He stretched his limbs a bit before continuing on. Falco crossed his arms, looking at him.

He knew the enormous white buildings of this district better than his own apartment. After exiting the subway, he walked right, bumping against people scampering in and out of the Cornerian Stock Exchange and 2nd National Bank buildings. "Kinda glad," he thought, "that I didn't invest into something as unreliable as stocks."

Not that it mattered; his father dropped an 80-year-unpaid-loan for a now obliterated cruiser on him.

Fox winced. He turned left, crossing an already busy street. He kept trudging forward, moving around people. Falco was somewhere around him, but he didn't know exactly where since there were too many people walking around.

A few minutes later, he approached the busiest intersection in the CTC. On one corner was a Starbrew Café, emitting scents of coffee to the street. On another corner was the government library, doubling as a wireless center. On the corner he was on was a wide, windowed building, pillars covering its walls.

It was the Cornerian Defense Base, and his destination.

He trotted up the stairs, opened the wooden double doors, and pushed through the rotating door after it. There was only one pathway to the main room, and a security guard with a metal detector was covering it.

Fox pulled out his ID—"_I need to get a new license," he thought, cringing as he looked at his 22-year old toothy smile_—and lifted his arms as he went through the metal detector. There was a beep, and he showed the security guard his ID. "Probably just my belt," Fox said.

The security guard, a middle aged hound, lifted his eyebrows and smirked. "Oh, you can go on. I see you all the time."

Fox went on, walking to the elevators on the left wall. He heard a voice behind him mutter, "Hmph, so much for security."

"It's not like he doesn't know me," Fox said, pushing the button.

"Just sayin', just sayin'…"

The elevator opened with a ding. Someone struggling to keep papers together in her binder stumbled out before they walked in. Fox noticed two people that couldn't have any older than him in the elevator, so he walked to the corner after Falco pushed the 8 button, trying to avoid eye contact.

"McCloud!" The voice was too excited; he couldn't have been older than 14. "It's McCloud and Falco Lombardi!"

Fox looked up and smiled at the two beagles. Falco just made a noise and turned his head. "Yeah, that's us," Fox said.

"You're like, military legends!" one of them said, grinning. The other one was trying his hardest not to laugh or something; he was just looking at the two with a dazed stare, covering his mouth.

"Of course…" Falco muttered.

"What are you two doing here?" Fox asked. They looked too young to officially be in any part of the military. They didn't even look natural in the suits they were wearing.

"Oh, we're in the Cornerian Flight Academy. We're sending these papers over," he waved the manila folder in his hand, "to General Frome, our instructor sent us you see-"

The elevator dinged, and Falco didn't hesitate to walk out. The teenager was left stammering, and Fox just forced a laugh. "We have to go, sorry," he said, walking out with Falco.

He heard a, "Bye!" from behind him and kept walking down the hallway.

"Damn, those people annoy me," Falco said, as if he was holding yelling at the kids before.

"You don't have to be so harsh," Fox said. "Besides, you don't seem to mind when it's women idolizing you."

"That's cause I know I'll get something out of it. But I need some fuckin' space every once in a while, jeez…"

Fox turned around to Falco and raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, not like you haven't abused your hero-status," Falco chuckled.

"I don't plan on it anymore."

"You say that now." Falco smirked, then turned to a wooden door labeled 8F7. "Maybe that's why you're so stressed all the time, hmm?"

"Right…" Fox patted down his jacket as Falco opened the door. "Meaningless sex will solve _all_ my problems."

He walked behind Falco into the office, instantly noticing that the room reeked of magnificence and nobility. The deep blue carpet and dark red drapes were the only striking colors; the rest of the room sat back, neutral. Lights were on, but it was still distinctly morning. Large, black and white pictures of old Generals hung on the walls; the only sense of a personal touch was a small picture frame on the desk, showing a family of three, smiling hares.

Sitting at the wooden desk was an all-too-familiar person. It was strange to think that Peppy Hare, his lifelong friend, was now General of the Cornerian Army.

The hare only had a small smile, but his face seemed beaming. "Well, look who finally showed up!"

Two couches were in front of the desk, facing each other. Krystal and Slippy were already sitting in one. Krystal smiled (_but it was probably just fake, polite_), as he and Falco sat in the other couch.

Falco slumped against the arm of the couch and loudly tapped his foot before speaking. "Any reason we didn't just go to Katina instead of meeting here, Pep?"

Peppy stared at Falco, smirking. Falco sighed, and said, "General…"

"Well," the hare began, "can you blame me for wanting to see my teammates again? Former teammates I suppose, but it's all the same. I was too drugged up at the hospital to remember anything, really."

Falco didn't look amused. Honestly, Fox was wondering the same thing; Peppy had already briefed them all before, it was only last night when he called them all and told them to meet this morning.

"Alright, fine," Peppy said. "To be honest, the situation in Katina seems to be looking much better. Yesterday, Husky Squad went in and patrolled the outskirts of Katina. There was only one unidentified cruise ship flying around Katina, and when asked to leave, they left."

"The distress signals were an overreaction, then?" Slippy asked, looking a little relieved. The toad seemed to love the feeling after successful missions, but hated carrying out the missions themselves.

"No, I think they acted appropriately." Peppy was pulling out drawers in his desk, rummaging through folders. "There's still report of suspicious aircrafts flying a couple hours away from Katina. The threat of a large-scale pirate attack is still there, but for now, Husky Squad will contain it."

"So, why did you call us here?" Fox asked.

"Well…" Peppy's voice was muffled, coming from underneath the desk. "There are other problems but I can't seem to find it…"

As Peppy rummaged through the doors, Fox's eyes drifted towards Krystal. Her eyes locked on his on contact, and her stare looked almost disbelieving.

"What?" it seemed to say.

The rattling of papers stopped. Peppy walked towards them, waving a small, manila folder. "I wanted to meet you in person for two reasons," he began. "One, we're in deep financial troubles, to the point where we may not be able to do anything for the next couple of weeks."

"How come?" Krystal asked. She seemed pissed at him before, but her voice showed no signs of any irritability.

"We need another Great Fox, obviously, but because our old one was destroyed we owe a large sum of money, around 700 million credits, to the Cornerian Army and Space Dynamics. But with Corneria tight for funds, they're reluctant to give us another to loan, even for short periods of time."

Falco looked up. "So? You're General of the Cornerian Army now, you can do whatever the hell you want."

"True, but I have limited authority on how the army spends their funds. I know next to nothing about the economy regardless, but I'm trying to convince them that we could prevent losing that much money in damages from pirates and the like."

"What's it all mean?" Slippy asked.

"It means until I get some things sorted out, we won't have a Dreadnought-class heavy cruiser for a few weeks, meaning we can't take on most of the missions we'd like for money anyway."

"_No perks for saving the Lylat system, huh,_" Fox thought.

"Secondly," Peppy began, "I want to help Star Wolf."

Those words didn't sound right together.

"They saved our lives, and by extension they saved Lylat's lives. I feel that's more than enough to wipe their criminal records, but with good reason others don't feel the same way."

"What are you trying to—"

Peppy put up a paw, interrupting Falco. "I'm attempting to convince other generals and Chiefs of Police to essentially set them free; it's the least we can do in thanks. I called you over to ask if you'd help me, in the conferences and everything."

Fox was thinking, confused, but Falco was the one who asked the question first. "What was the point of calling us over here just to ask that?"

"It's a more persuasive question in person."

Peppy's gaze seemed to confirm that statement. "Err…" Fox began, "I guess. It's not—"

"Great!" Peppy grinned. "We're actually having the conference in an hour, in room 3C5 in this building."

Fox blinked.

* * *

Of course it made sense to call them and talk in person before asking, as it made refusal a lot more awkward. Peppy wasn't stupid. Still, it was an odd how much he wanted confirmation by them, going by the measures he took.

Regardless, sitting by people they've tried to kill at least five times now was strange.

They were sitting at a long, rectangular table in a windowless, bleak room. When they arrived, they made it a point to sit across from the three who were already here (_which was a bad idea now that he thought of it, because he had to intentionally look away the entire time_). No one had spoken since they arrived, although Falco occasionally glared at Leon.

The silence was getting the better of him. With his face buried in his paws, he stared at the table, unsure of whether to speak or not.

"Umm…"

Someone broke the silence, thankfully. Fox looked up; Slippy was looking down, twiddling his thumbs.

"Umm…I just wanted to say, thanks."

Slippy looked as if he was giving a speech on universal TV.

"Thanks for saving us back there, I mean." Slippy seemed to regain some of his composure. "That maneuver you guys did at the Aparoid Homeworld, I mean we'd all be dead if it wasn't for…"

Slippy trailed off, looking down at the table. Panther, who Fox now noticed was much taller and intimidating in person, just scoffed and turned away, glancing at Krystal.

Ugh…

No one had said anything for a while, leaving the room in an eerie silence. The only audible noise was the drone of the heater. When were they going to come in, so they could start this—

"Why the hell are you guys even here?" Leon spat.

Falco was quick to retaliate. "You're lucky we even agreed to do this for you, you ungrateful son-of-a-bitch."

"I'm ungrateful?" Leon forced a laugh. "Oh Gods, sorry you and everyone else is _alive_."

"Like anyone else in your position wouldn't have done that—"

"What makes you think I want to live in this Cornerian shithole, anyway?"

"I dunno, cause it's better than sucking ass to cheap thieves and drug cartels?"

"Falco, like always, you make no fucking sense. You'd be begging for an ounce of the life I had on Sargasso."

At some point, Fox stopped caring to hear what they were actually saying. Amidst the shouting, he turned to look at the other two. Wolf stared at a blank space in the wall, disinterested. Panther seemed amused though; he kept chuckling every time one of them yelled and insult, and then glanced to Krystal…

…who smiled back. Something welled up inside of him, but it subsided after a few seconds. Fox turned away, disgusted.

A loud thud—a chair fell back on the ground. Falco was half-standing on the table, clutching Leon's neck.

"Physical violence now, huh?" Leon asked, smiling. "When will you grow up?"

"Leon, shut up." That wasn't from Falco, surprisingly. Wolf was glaring at the two. "You're both just irritating."

Falco narrowed his eyes. "What makes you think that—"

The door handle moved, and Falco scampered back into his chair. Peppy and two other unfamiliar people, who both looked around Peppy's age, walked in the room and sat down at the end of the table. They looked around at everyone, seemingly emotionless.

One of the people sitting down, a dark bloodhound, stacked his papers and forced a cough. Peppy shrugged. "Time to begin this conference, I guess."

The bloodhound looked almost taken aback by Peppy's informality, but Peppy ignored it and continued. "First off, I'd like to introduce the Cornerian City Chief of Police, Richard Keith," he gestured to the man on the left, who smiled, "and the Lord Chief Justice, Maxwell Sabas," he gestured to the man on the right, who grunted.

"And you two already know who these people are."

Fox forced a smile.

Sabas cleared his throat again. "Listen, everybody appreciates everything you guys did for Lylat." His voice was uncomfortably loud. "However, that doesn't give you all the clear on your past criminal charges. Your—"

"Hold on, hold on," Keith interrupted him. "Considering what happened during the Aparoid Invasion, I think it gives them 'all the clear' on their past offenses."

Sabas folded his arms. "How does that make any sense?"

"How does it not? What's your criteria for something like this?"

"_Excuse me for asking_," Wolf cut in, his voice spilling with sarcasm, "but what's the point of us being here if you're just going to yell at each other?"

Sabas scoffed. Keith smiled and began to speak. "Well, the details of what happened are still a little murky."

"We need to know what happened during the Aparoid invasion, specifically, that for some reason allows you to roam Lylat free."

Peppy glanced at Sabas. "I already told you what happened."

"We need the information directly from the source. Anyway, I thought you rammed your mother-ship into the Aparoid planet, or something crazy. How could you—"

"We'd like multiple opinions," Keith said, relieving some of the tension. "To all of the details."

"Opinions that are less biased, hopefully."

"The overall information can't really be biased. These two mercenary teams were on opposite sides up until this point, if I'm not mistaken."

Sabas ignored this comment. "Fox," he began, "what happened during the Aparoid Invasion? More specifically, the destruction of the Aparoid Homeworld."

The memory seemed so distant now, it was hard to believe it had only happened three weeks ago.

"Star Wolf assisted us with the invasion," Fox said. "After passing through the shields and getting into the core of the planet, they took care of a swarm of Aparoids that would have killed us otherwise. From there, I fired Beltino Toad's self-destruct program into the Aparoid Queen, which killed her and every Aparoid in existence. I haven't seen Star Wolf since."

"So you're saying that they assisted you," Sabas began, "but there's no hard evidence to suggest their assistance caused your survival and Lylat's survival."

"No, that's not what I'm—we'd probably be dead if it wasn't for them. No, I'd _certainly_ be dead if it wasn't for Wolf, he personally saved my life."

Wolf stared at him, blank. Sabas tapped a pen on the table, thinking. "And that was a for sure—"

"_Yes_, I was for certain going to die was it not for him."

Keith, shrugging his shoulders, looked at Peppy and Sabas. "Well," he began, "I don't see what the big deal is. Why do you insist on convicting them?

"I insist on it because that's the only logical course of action. Even if McCloud's testimony—"

Testimony?

"—is true, that doesn't change the nature of these criminals."

"But it's something that should be able to be dropped altogether, right? The fact we're even able to debate about this now is thanks to them."

"That mindset, ignoring obvious facts and the like, is exactly how the majority of the Cornerian Defense Forces were wiped out."

Keith glared at him. "That's a completely separate issue. Don't bring it up. Besides, that was a—"

"A tragedy, yes," Sabas glared back. "But it was easily preventable, and it is relevant because it's the same thing that could happen in this case."

"When have we ever commited mass murder?" Leon asked, not looking at the justice. Sabas raised his eyebrows and smiled. He stacked his papers again, and opened the portfolio, flipping through them.

"Leon Powalski," he said, then cleared his throat. "Let's see, breaking and entering, expulsion from the Cornerian Flight Academy due to aggravated assault and battery, breaking and entering of federal property, arson, aggravated battery, manslaughter, smuggling of drugs…that's all in one year. The rest of the list goes on and on."

"And Wolf O'Donnell, you've got the same things. Breaking and entering, expulsion of the Cornerian Flight Academy due to reckless behavior—"

Wolf's ear twitched, and he muttered something inaudible.

"—breaking and entering of federal property, arson, smuggling…I mean, if you think it's a smart idea to let highly active criminals free because of circumstantial assistance, go ahead."

Keith put a paw to his head and sighed. "Look, that's ignoring the fact that—"

"The fact that what, Keith?" Sabas was clearly angry, and staring Keith down. "Panther's the only one I'd consider clearing charges for, only because he's had a clean record up until joining their team. But still, these people are clearly criminals and will clearly commit more offenses if given the chance."

"So why not wait until they do commit the crimes to charge them?"

"What kind of backwater logic is that? There's no point in waiting for the glaringly obvious to happen—"

"We should wrap this conversation up," Peppy interrupted. "It's not working out the way I intended."

"Which was what? Letting these criminals free?"

"No, using time well. There's virtually no point of Star Fox and Star Wolf of being here if we're just going to waste their time bickering with each other."

Good thinking, too, Fox thought. Everyone was just getting uncomfortable being referenced as if they weren't there.

"So then," Wolf muttered, "what's our sentence or whatever?"

Sabas groaned. "It'll take me time to make an informed decision."

"Given that, you know," Wolf went on as if Sabas didn't say anything, "our property's been seized and all."

"I said I need time, okay?"

"And you're the highest ranking judiciary power in Corneria—"

"Look," Sabas said, clutching his head and looking as if he was going to rip his fur out. "If anyone sees your tails outside of Corneria, consider yourself arrested. …You're all safe for now, until I make a decision."

Star Wolf—and everyone else in the room, it seemed—was unresponsive. Sabas, however, looked infuriated.

"That's that, I suppose," Peppy said, getting out of his chair. "You're all free to go." He walked out of the room, Sabas and Keith following suit.

"That's it?" Slippy glanced at everyone. "Do we just leave?"

Nobody said anything. Slippy feigned a laugh, then slipped out of the room.

One by one, people got out of their chairs and left. Fox put his head on the table and stared at the wood. He would have gotten up, but he was feeling oddly lethargic.

Fox turned his head, seeing Krystal still seated a couple of chairs to his right. She was looking at the table before, but then she turned and made eye-contact with him.

Her eyes were telling him something, asking him something, but he didn't know what.

Before he could say anything, she turned away, got up, and left without a word.

"No point in being in an empty room by yourself, Fox," he mumbled, walking out the door. He made his way to the elevator, wondering what he was going to do to fill his day.

_Same thing you always do. Bury yourself in newspapers and politics until you get bored and tired._

What did he used to do, before the Aparoid Invasion—no, that's not right, before the Lylat Wars? He honestly didn't remember what he did on a day to day basis.

_Probably because you were too busy getting drunk._

He remembered being hired for random odd jobs. He remembered going to some new bar Falco would show him every other day. He remembered actually enjoying those military parties and celebrations. But…

Muscle-memory had apparently carried him outside the building, out to the front steps. Fox sighed—it hadn't warmed up much since the morning. He figured since he was already here, he'd get a cup of Starbrew and wake himself up.

Halfway down the steps, he stopped in his tracks. Wolf was sitting on one of the steps, staring somewhere. Fox found it odd that he didn't know the man that he had nearly killed, had nearly been killed by, and that had saved his life.

"_Not that talking to him would change that_," he thought, walking on. But something compelled him to stop and turn around.

He walked towards him, noticing he was smoking, unsure of what to say. Too late now—he was standing in front of Wolf, who turned up to look at him.

"Err…" Fox began. "I didn't know you smoked."

"We've barely talked," he said, his voice low, "and you're gonna make judgments on my health?"

"What? No, I'm just saying."

Wolf gazed at him a couple seconds longer, then laughed. "Whatever, McCloud." He twisted his cigarette on the concrete, using it as an ashtray.

He looked back up again. "What did you want?"

"Just to say thanks, I guess."

Wolf grunted. He looked back down at his cigarette and kept pushing it into the concrete, but the light was already out.

"What was that thing about your property getting seized, anyway?" Fox wasn't sure where the question came from; he wasn't thinking about it a second earlier.

"Really, why are you talking to me?"

Fox was about to retaliate, but Wolf just went on. "Sargasso was seized by the Cornerian government."

"What?"

"I'm just surprised they didn't do it earlier." Wolf looked back at him again. "What? You didn't expect it? Not sure why _now_, but Sargasso's been an illegal criminal hideout, and Corneria's known about it."

Fox did his usual, "Hmm," in response. Wolf laid his head back on the steps, staring into the sky.

"If you don't have a reason for being here, you should leave."

"Oh, yeah," Fox said. He didn't realize how much time he seemed to have wasted. He got up and turned around. "Later."

"When are you expecting to see me later?"

Fox raised his hands. "Excuse me for trying to be polite."

* * *

Fox flicked the lights on, revealing his home. Open newspapers were strewn on the table, a blanket was on the floor near the couch, and one of the light bulbs in his chandelier still wouldn't turn on. His apartment usually wasn't messy, but recently he didn't seem to care.

He looked at the room and frowned, then turned the lights back off and walked to his bedroom. His bed was messy as well, but he was too tired to do anything about it. He pushed a newspaper off his bed and fell back on it, staring at the ceiling he could barely see in the dark.

He supposed he should have gotten up, taken a shower, brushed his teeth, and all that, but he was too exhausted for any of that.

His comm buzzed in his pocket. A couple of seconds later, he reached to get it and flicked it open.

YOU HAVE 1 NEW TXT MSG. He opened it, and read what little of a message there was.

"7"

Fox frowned. It was probably someone who sent a message to the wrong person by mistake, so he looked at who sent it—

There wasn't a name after the _From: _section, and after _To: _it just said _McCloud_, and only _McCloud_, which wasn't what he was listed as on his comm.

Whatever. He was going to put his comm back in his pocket, but it buzzed in his hands. He flipped it open, reading the message.

"It's all the time you have."

Fox pushed himself to side of his bed and flipped on his lamp, the dim light comforting him. This was eerie. He looked at his comm inbox, looking for the message.

It wasn't there. His most recent message was from Krystal, from yesterday.

His comm buzzed again. This time, someone was calling him. He put the comm to his ear.

"Hello?"

No one answered. It was completely silent—no static, no breathing, nothing.

"Hello?"

Someone exhaled. Fox's heart skipped a beat, and he slammed his comm shut. He stared at it for a few more minutes, waiting for any more messages or calls.

"It's probably something stupid," Fox mumbled, his voice comforting him in the silence. He put his comm back in his pocket, turned off the lights, and laid back down on his bed.


	2. What Ever Happened?

_**What Ever Happened?  
**I want to be forgotten, and I don't want to be reminded._

Fox was staring at a yellow box of cheese with nutritional values, ingredients, and small disclaimers written over it, but at some point he stopped reading it all and trailed into other thoughts. He jolted to reality when someone brushed by him, mumbling apologies and trying to reach for what Fox was standing in front of.

"Oh, sorry," Fox said, putting the box of cheese in his basket. He glanced down at his list, seeing "_Broccoli/Carrots_" scrawled on the paper. He thought getting what he needed haphazardly would help get his mind off things; instead, it just made him bored.

The aisle of vegetables got closer in sight, and funnily, even at a very busy time for NeoGeoMart, there was only one person hunched over the row. He approached it, but a group of kids ran around the corner and bumped into him, making him fall over.

"Damn it…" he muttered. He stood up and turned around, but the kids bolted away laughing. He walked to the vegetable aisle and tore out two green bags from the container on the side.

"Cussing by children? Classy, huh."

Fox's ears twitched. "Err, heh well I wasn't trying to…"

Noticing gray fur, Fox turned at his speaker, who smirked when he made eye-contact.

Wolf wasn't the person he wanted to see right now.

He must have done something to make that apparent, because Wolf's smirk grew into a full-blown grin on his muzzle, and he started to laugh.

Fox cursed. "Ugh, why are you here?"

"Same reason why you're here, McCloud," Wolf said, looking as if he was trying to hold back his laughter. Fox sighed and picked up a couple stalks of broccoli before Wolf went on. "_What? _God forbid I want to eat."

"I just wouldn't think…" Fox looked for the words, "…I don't know, you'd ever be in a public grocery store."

"There are private ones now?" Wolf chuckled again. "Right now, I gotta live a life just like everyone else."

Now that he thought of it, he hadn't ever seen Wolf in normal clothes. Other than yesterday and a couple times during the Aparoid Invasion, he hadn't seen Wolf in-person at all. Seeing the person he's been in numerous dogfights with, now in jeans and a black polo, would have made him laugh any other day.

Wolf tied a bag of vegetables and tossed them in his cart, which Fox noticed was nearly full. "We were just kicked out of Sargasso a few days ago," Wolf continued. "I need to eat something, and fast-food's not cuttin' it."

"Hmm."

"That all you know how to say?"

"Well you see, I don't really want to talk to you right now."

Wolf smirked again. "Aww, morning sickness?"

"Shut up."

"Moody much? You tried to talk to me yesterday."

Fox shrugged, struggling to tie a bag. He tossed it in his cart and looked back up; Wolf pushed his cart forward and back again, absent-mindedly. "Must be nice," he mumbled. "Being rich, having everyone in the army kissing your ass—"

"If you're implying my life is awesome, you're sadly mistaken," Fox said.

Wolf stared at him for a few seconds. "How can it not be? Everybody loves you, you can have any job you want, do anything illegal and not get in trouble. You've got so much to abuse and your life's horrible? Please."

Fox gritted his teeth and almost wanted to hit Wolf for how much about his life he didn't understand. "It just is, okay?" he said. "And I'm pretty pissed right now—why am I talking to you anyway?"

"Why are you?" Wolf smirked again.

"I could be gone by now."

"You could."

"So I'm leaving," Fox said, walking away.

"That's great. But, you came here for a reason, right?"

Fox turned around, seeing a half filled bag of broccoli he left on the counter. The lupine laughed and walked away, leaving Fox cursing to himself.

* * *

"You'll be there, right?"

"Yeah yeah, one sec."

Fox's eyes gazed over the newspaper. The words were covered in pages of bad journalism, but they caught his eye.

**Two found dead in empty Zonessian warehouse. Cause of death undetermined.**

"Fox."

"Hold on, Slippy."

Fox sat up from his bed, trying to get in a more comfortable position.

"_Yesterday, in a room of an empty warehouse in Encinitas, Zoness, two bodies were found, deceased. They were both male otters, appearing to be in their mid-30s. However, not only is there no identification found in any Lylatian database for these two, as the IDs on their persons were fake, but there is no apparent cause of death. No injuries, no diseases, no organ failures—their brains just seemed to shut off._

"_The warehouse in which they were found was a deserted Aerial-Tactical supply building. The company left the building two Zonessian years ago to relocate in Cruz Bay—_"

"Fooooox…"

"Alright. I'm coming, okay?"

Fox put the newspaper on the desk near his bed, leaving it open to that page. He rolled out of his bed, patting away strands of fur from his shirt with his free hand. "When does it start, again?" he asked into the comm.

"7:15, kinda. Well like, the ceremony starts at 7:15, but being, you know, Star Fox, we should be there earlier. I'd say about an hour."

Fox walked into his bathroom and started the sink, grabbing his toothbrush. "You'd better be walking out your door if you want to make it there on time," Slippy said. "At least dressed."

He looked at his reflection in the mirror, and two lazy green eyes looked back at him. Still in a T-shirt and jeans. "Relax Slip," he said. "I'm nearly ready."

* * *

He looked past the table, at the rest of the congregation. Past one of the corners, he could see the kitchen. The scent of dinner was still inviting him. There was some sort of soft orchestral music playing through the speakers, but it was hard to hear over the murmurs of nearly a hundred people talking. Whoever decorated the room for the evening seemed to have wasted a lot of credits.

People were chatting to each other, sitting at tables and standing in small groups around the room. Ambassadors and military leaders from different planets were conversing, sipping on wine. Everyone was dressed formally, in a similar looking tuxedo like the one he was wearing, or some intricate dress, but it seemed like they were a bunch of children. A bunch of teenagers, trapped in formal outfits, gossiping around the school cafeteria.

He felt like this wasn't as much as a waste of taxpayer's money to celebrate Star Fox's success as it was a waste of taxpayer's money to talk to each other.

As if on cue, a brown-furred hare he somewhat recognized walked towards him and stretched out his hand. "You're team Star Fox, I presume?" It was more of a statement than a question.

Fox nodded, shaking his hand. The hare went on shaking the hands of the rest of the team sitting at the table, grinning and saying their names as he did so. "Falco…Krystal…Slippy…and ah, General Peppy!"

Peppy smiled and stood up. "Bernhard! Nice to see you again."

"How are you taking your new position as General?"

"It's still odd hearing it before my name."

They made more small-talk, Fox assumed. Other people like him had talked with them throughout the night, with the inner edges of their tuxedos cluttered with military badges. Fox took a sip of whatever he was drinking—the name was too long to remember—and drifted back off to daydreaming.

"Fox, you remember Bernhard," Peppy said, grabbing his attention. "The Katinian Minister of Defense."

"Yeah." Fox smiled did a quick nod of his head. It seemed almost mechanical, now.

Bernhard nodded to him and dragged an empty chair from a different table to theirs, squeezing himself between Peppy and Falco. "It's great to meet all of you, in person I mean. I'd go on about how grateful I am for your help in the Aparoid invasion, but I'm sure you've heard it a hundred times by now, right?"

Everyone else at the table smiled, but Fox just took another sip of his alcohol. The hare went on. "I'd love to chat, but we have some pressing matters in Katina. You see, there's quite the looming threat of a pirate attack on one of our supply ships."

"I thought Husky Squad was taking care of that," Fox said.

"They were, but left after the problem diminished. Now, there's frequent reports of unauthorized crafts in Katinian airspace. We sent a few military squads through there, and found nothing."

Fox didn't say anything, but he apparently looked confused enough. "The problem is," Bernhard began, "that they're practically invisible when there's any sign of military action, but when they leave, there's dozens of reports of strange spacecrafts floating above our major ports."

Fox nodded. The hare moved his eyes around the room, looking at people. "I want you to help us spring a trap," he said in a hushed voice. "We can't discuss much about it now, but if you consider it and contact me, I'll go in the details."

"Ah," Fox said, "we'll think about it."

"I know you're all tired, just having saved the Lylat System and all," Bernhard made an irritating laugh when he said this, "but it'd help us out a lot. I hope you talk to you later!"

Bernhard walked from the table, leaving his chair pushed out.

"Not interested," Falco stated, slumping back in his chair. Fox turned to Slippy, who just shrugged his shoulders, and Krystal, who was just looking at the space in front of her.

"You guys should take the offer," Peppy said, looking at the rest of the team. "At least, it would make you all a little less stressed."

Fox sighed. "You said it yourself yesterday; we don't have a mother ship, and doing a mission like this without one is just dangerous."

"True." Peppy sighed. "But still, that's something you can negotiate with Bernhard. See how big this project is and if he's willing to loan you a carrier."

Fox shrugged. The table was silent again, and he listened to the drone of outside conversation. "Really, I just wish you guys would talk more," Peppy said. "What's the deal? It's so eerie when you're all silent."

"Well, I've always hated these things," Falco said. "Much better stuff I could be doing than wasting my time here.."

Peppy gave Fox a questioning look, and Fox wasn't really sure how to respond to it. He'd always been wondering why he was more moody than usual. Blaming his stress on the Aparoid invasion was easy, but war wasn't anything he hasn't dealt with before and he's always handled it much better than—

"Well, I'm leaving." Peppy got up, patting down his suit. "I plan on actually talking with people."

A few seconds later, he was gone into the crowd of chatter. Fox stared back down at the table, taking occasional sips of his drink. Seconds, maybe minutes passed, until he got a sharp nudge from his side.

Fox glanced to his right, seeing Krystal get up and walk away. She turned around back at him, which was more than enough invitation to get up and follow her. Fox pushed his way through groups of people, following Krystal across the room.

She got to a stairwell and hopped down it, nearly running. He followed her, waiting for her to say something. They went down to the lobby of the building. The receptionist waved at him, and he gave a weak wave back, following Krystal to a lounge area in the corner of the room. She sat in one of the couches, and Fox sat down in one opposite of her.

Her body seemed to tense a bit. "Fox," she said, looking towards the ground.

She looked back at him, making eye-contact. "What's wrong?"

The answer was natural for him now. "Nothing."

"Really, Fox?"

"Yes, really, nothing."

"Because," Krystal adjusted her posture on the couch, crossing her arms. "You've been shutting yourself off for the past weeks since the invasion. There has to be something."

"Well, there isn't," Fox said. "I'm fine."

"You've been so…hostile recently, and I just want to help you."

She seemed oddly calm about this, Fox realized. "Weren't you yelling at me two days ago about this?" he said, forcing a chuckle. "Pick a mood."

He meant that to come off light-hearted, but Krystal's eyes were still locked on him. "I don't think it's all that funny, Fox," she said, her voice still low. "You won't open up to anyone—me. I'm just…I don't know, I just want you to be okay…"

"…Krystal, I—"

"What's wrong?"

Déjà-vu.

"Nothing's wrong," he said.

"Really?"

He felt the fur on the back of his head bristle. "Damn it, stop asking me this."

"Stop avoiding the question then." Her voice got a bit louder. Fox glanced back at the receptionist, oblivious to his discomfort.

"I really don't know. I'm just stressed out, I suppose."

She looked down and scratched her paw. "Why don't we just talk? It doesn't even have to be about this, because I'm unsure what _this_ is…but let's just talk about something."

"Talk about _what_, Krystal?" The entire conversation was annoying him for some reason. "I'm just stressed out, and I have every reason to be. You're yelling, crying, or whatever the hell you've been doing the past weeks for no reason. I'm fine."

Krystal blinked. "No reason—Fox, you're so oblivious to everything. You're closed up, and I just want to talk, and I don't know why you don't want to."

"Because there's nothing to talk about."

Krystal didn't say anything for a long while. Fox averted his eyes from her; he saw three people walking out the front door, smiling and immersed in conversation, and he tried to pick out some of their words—

"This isn't going to work."

Fox's ears twitched. "What?"

"I thought this would happen before I even talked to you, but…" She seemed to be talking to herself. "It's okay, it's just not going to work."

"…what?"

"You refuse to talk with me—"

"Because there's nothing to t—"

"So I'm just…" Krystal looked away and opened her mouth a few times, but no words came out. "You aren't the same Fox I liked before the invasion. I don't know what made you so upset, but I hope for your benefit you find out and get better, because I'm done trying to read you."

Fox felt his heart skip beats. "Krystal, what are you…"

She stood up and turned. "I don't want to have to say it," she muttered, walking away.

Fox bit his lower lip. "Wait—"

She walked away, going into an elevator. She stood and faced the opposite wall, but Fox saw her punching buttons before the doors closed.

Fox leaned back in the couch, not having fully absorbed what just happened. He closed his eyes, running through all of the events in an outline in his head. The months leading up to the invasion, the invasion itself, the weeks afterwards…

It was all clear; whatever relationship he had with Krystal was ended. So why did he not seem to care, and why—was he really so apathetic? He didn't know which question worried him more.

He caught the eye of the receptionist, who must have noticed the entire thing. She kept glancing back at him, and he prayed she wouldn't approach him about the situation. He heard her voice, and he got up to leave, but she was just greeting some men in suits who walked in. What was this building for, anyway?

Footsteps were approaching him. Fox groaned; he really didn't want to deal with the receptionist. However, the person who approached him was a dark-furred canine, sporting a gray suit and an interesting cube design on his tie.

"Fox McCloud, I hope?" His voice had some sort of a slight accent.

Fox nodded, shaking the man's hand. He put his briefcase on the table and sat in the couch across from him. "You're just the person I was looking for," the man said.

Despite his seemingly young age, the man was _intimidating_. Fox assumed it was a business thing—he read somewhere about vertical lines on suits commanding respect, or something. Whatever it was, it was working.

"Ah, pardon for not introducing myself." He smiled and gestured to his chest. "Ricky Von Spitze."

"You know me, obviously," Fox said, shaking Ricky's outstretched hand. "So what did you want?"

Ricky's slight smile vanished. He looked directly at Fox, not moving. "The situation is crucial. I want to hire team Star Fox."

_Straight to the point, huh. _"For what?"

"Is the rest of the team here, with you?" Ricky seemed bent on not getting a refusal from him. Fox almost nodded yes, but caught himself. He didn't want another confrontation with Krystal tonight.

"No, I'll tell them. What is it?"

Ricky's voice dropped lower. "We've been having issues with pirates in Katinian ports."

"Oh, that? Secretary of Defense Bernhard already asked—"

"Don't accept whatever he offers." Ricky's stare was nerve-racking. "He doesn't understand the severity of the situation."

"And who are you to be saying this?"

"Ah, pardon again," Ricky said, leaning back into the couch. He chuckled and got his wallet out of his pocket, taking out his business card from it and handing it to Fox. "I'm head of research teams for Space Dynamics. As of now, we deal with cutting costs on standard non-military space transport, increasing efficiency ratings across the board for standard fighter jets, as well as developing blueprints and testing prototypes of custom fighter aircrafts."

Fox looked at his business card. Just like the real Ricky, the Ricky on the card had a confident smile.

_Space Dynamics__  
Ricky Von Spitze  
Director of Research and Development_

_CM: 909-2846-6427__  
FX: 909-2846-6427__  
1288 Meridian Road  
Corneria City, Corneria 89118_

When he put it down, Ricky spoke again. "In fact, one of our teams developed the model Arwing you fly now. We learned how to implement four G-diffusers, and we also designed the wings to be considerably more flexible. It was actually the first project I led."

Ricky grinned, obviously proud of himself. "Err…how old are you?" Fox asked.

"Twenty-six next week."

Fox's eyes widened. "Impressive."

"Thanks," Ricky said, pulling a folder out of his briefcase. "But back to business, Bernhard really doesn't know what he's dealing with. He's underestimating the organization of the pirates. He's not even sure what they're after."

"How are you sure?"

"Come on, he's going to be kicked out of office next year, I bet. Remember the Third Wharf scandal? And he always disregards obvious information."

"Such as…?"

"He thinks those pirates are just going to raid any ship they can for profit." Ricky looked around the room and leaned in closer. "They're after Space Dynamics transport vessels, I'm certain."

Ricky went on. "We've been doing research on Katina. It's kinda classified, but err…we've been excavating certain rare ores for testing. Somewhere there must have been a leak of information, because now any time a Space Dynamics vessel exits or enters a Katinian port, the pirates pop up, waiting."

Fox scratched his head, waiting for Ricky to keep talking, but he never did. "What makes you think there was a leak?" Fox asked. "Far as I'm concerned, this is just a coincidence."

Ricky laughed. "Well, with rival companies like AeroSpace and A-Tac barking up our tails, it's very plausible. Actually, I have no doubts. And even if it's not from them, any ordinary pirate could cash in by raiding what we've, err…"

"Still—"

"I wish I could tell you," Ricky muttered, his voice frighteningly low, "but what we've potentially found is too big to be a coincidence."

Fox was sure that the man wasn't telling the whole truth, but clients never disclosed much information on the requests. There was nowhere else to go with the conversation. "How much are you paying?"

"Glad you asked. Twenty-thousand credits each, plus potential repair costs."

"Only—"

"And…" Ricky raised a finger. "I'll work to cut off some of the debts from the Great Fox. Not making any promises, but it should be down at least half. That is, of course, if you succeed."

Fox stared at Ricky's smug-looking grin. "What do you mean about the Great Fox…?"

"I'm one of the higher-ups of Space Dynamics, Fox. If you succeed with this, and our preliminary research is correct, we could net our company…" He shifted in his seat, looking away from Fox and speaking hushed again. "I'm talking too much, but billions of credits would be an understatement."

Fox blinked. "Hard to believe, I know," Ricky said. "But the debts of the Great Fox would easily be looked over."

"If you're getting that much money, isn't twenty-thousand credits per a bit cheap?"

"This is coming out of my pocket. Companies can't hire mercenary teams—well I guess they could, but there's a ton of backlash. I'm doing this under my name, not Space Dynamics." He paused. "Besides, it's just a simple brushing off of pirates. For any other team, twenty-thousand untaxed credits would be quite a lot. And don't forget; I'm potentially saving your team millions with the Great Fox."

Fox leaned back in the couch, attempting to process what this man was saying. It was a lot of information to take in at once. He was still trying to get over the Aparoid Invasion, and what had just happened a few minutes ago, but something in him pushed to say yes.

"Well? Will you accept?"

"…Yeah."

Ricky's face beamed up. "That's great!" he said. He took papers out of his folder and handed Fox a pen. "Put these numbers in your comm, and write the rest of the team's numbers in there, please. Top one's my number."

Standard procedure.

"You'll be working with teams Star Wolf and AstralBlue."

Fox's ears twitched. "Err, what?"

Ricky stood up and grabbed his briefcase, still smiling. "Report at Space Dynamics Airlot tomorrow morning, probably around 9:30. I'll message each of you with specifics later. We don't have any time to waste, I'll brief you all there. Get your teammates."

"Okay, but—"

"Thanks for your services," the canine said, walking towards the exit and waving his arm. "Space Dynamics appreciates it. We're going to make huge advancements because of you."

The door closed, and Fox felt chills run through his body.

_Damn it…_

Most clients did this—purposely leaving out information to hire mercenary teams. Skewing the stories until they accepted, then giving the rest of the briefing right before the mission was common, which often led to most mercenaries biting off more than they could chew.

But Ricky was cunning, offering him a mission during his worst possible life circumstances. It was an offer he couldn't refuse though; saying no would mean the potential loss of billions of credits.

Every time he thought of calling him back and denying, the number sank in more and more.

Fox sighed, clutching the arms of the couch. He'd have to brief the team and tell them they were reporting tomorrow for a mission with their rivals, and whoever AstralBlue was. …And the team includes her, too.

He realized that he'd accidentally ripped the couch—small puffs of cotton escaped where his nails tore through the leather. The celebration probably wasn't over, but he got up and walked out the door anyway, fumbling for his car keys in his pocket.

He wasn't tired, but he just wanted to clear his mind and relax.


	3. Last Night

_**Last Night  
**On top of this, I ain't ever gonna understand**  
**__  
_

The blare of a car alarm woke Fox. He groaned, licked his lips and tasted salty sweat, and pulled his bedsheets over his head. He always covered himself in blankets when he slept—what started as an inane defense to "get the monsters away" as a kid turned into a habit. Despite it being January, it was awfully warm in his apartment. Or was it just him?

After burying his face in his pillow for the next few minutes and thinking about his . . . odd dream, he pushed himself up and sat upright in his bed. As the blood rushed from his head to the rest of his body, the memories of last night rushed into his mind.

_ "I just want you to be okay."_

Was he really not okay? Fox seemed content enough (_but I guess if only being content is good enough for me, it's a problem). Is it though?_ He looked at his bedroom; the mess of newspapers and magazines strewn everywhere coupled with the bleak lighting outside made it look like a clichéd beginning to an action movie. _Silent, stern hero is taken from his boring life, lands himself in a dangerous mission, saves the world, and gets everything he wants._

Except it wasn't that glamorous. Or rewarding.

Fox stood up, glaring at his alarm clock. He tried thinking about his emotions after Krystal broke up with him. He tried remembering emotions when they were still together. It wasn't that he felt empty, just that he couldn't remember anything remarkable; as hard as he tried, he wasn't upset that they weren't together. Wasn't it standard to feel some remorse after a relationship ends?

Or maybe, he realized, it was because he never thought of it as a relationship. Before, he and Krystal were good friends, but . . .

Tired of drawing blanks, Fox fumbled in his pocket and took out his comm. Scrolling through the menus, he found a text from Ricky reminding him to be at the Space Dynamics airlot this morning. _In hindsight, accepting that mission wasn't a good idea. _He kept going through his comm and found the message he got last night from the same anonymous caller. There was a message, arriving at midnight sharp, that read "6" this time, and there was a call, arriving at 12:01 sharp, that sounded like an incomprehensible mess.

He was about to listen to the voicemail when his comm buzzed in his hand. The number wasn't one he recognized, and he stared at the luminescent blue backlight for a few seconds before deciding to answer it.

"Hello?" Fox cleared his throat after saying that—his voice sounded oddly hoarse.

"McCloud?"

The voice on the other end wasn't one he expected to call him. "Wolf?" Fox asked, scratching his ear. "Why are you—how did you even get my number?"

"Ricky. Anyway, I need a ride to the airlot. I don't feel like dealing with public transport."

Fox wasn't sure of what to say, so Wolf went on. "What? I don't have a car, and apparently I'm not allowed to go anywhere. I was held up for an hour in the subway after I saw you yesterday at the store. The cops thought I'd bomb the place or something."

Fox got up from his bed. "Couldn't you ask Leon or Panther?"

"Are you even listening?"

"Wh—sorry. I just woke up."

"You sound like it."

Fox cleared his throat again. "I mean, fine. There's really no other way of you getting to the airlot?"

"Really hate me that much?" Wolf said with a laugh. Fox knew he was kidding—to some extent—but for some reason, it offended him anyway.

"It's only fair. Before the Aparoid invasion, you tried to kill me."

Wolf retorted in a deep growl. "Saving your life isn't good enough?"

"Whatever, fine," Fox said, looking out the window. Despite the clouds blocking the sun, the white snow was almost blinding. The roads were only cleared because he lived in a nice neighborhood, and even then, the ice and slush didn't look promising. "I'll pick you up. I just . . . don't feel like dealing with this weather."

Wolf scoffed. "God forbid. I'll save you the trouble and walk though the ice, how about that?"

Fox grunted at his sarcasm. He was already in a bland mood, and a car ride with Wolf wasn't something he was planning on or looking forward to. Wolf laughed on the other end. "I'll send you my address," Wolf said, and with a click, the comm cut off.

* * *

He hadn't thought that Wolf would be living in Northridge. The lettering etched in stone at the front of the complex, the perfectly shoveled sidewalks, the three-story homes and rows of apartments—it all added up to one of the best living districts in Corneria City. Yet it didn't seem to match up at all with the person walking out of the house, towards his car.

Wolf opened the door. "Hey," he said, climbing into the car. Fox nodded back and started the engine. He figured Wolf wouldn't say anything, so he drove out of the complex. The silence was getting awkward, so he put his full attention on the roads. Even in the mornings, the streets were crowded. Ice and busy people led to congestion no matter where—

"Can't turn this way," Wolf said. "Construction."

"Gee, Fox, thanks for the ride," Fox mumbled, turning around.

"That's no fun." Wolf raised his paws and laughed. "I haven't even done anything yet, _McCloud_."

Fox grunted, turning away and looking out the window. He kept driving, not saying anything. He was getting closer to the outskirts of the city, where the Space Dynamics airlot was. Unfortunately, it meant the roads were worse, as there was no pressing need to salt the ice.

Fox overestimated a left turn and found his car slipping across the road until it covered both lanes. Someone honked behind him, and he muttered curses under his breath, trying to straighten it back. When he finally corrected his car and drove again, he scratched his neck and shuddered, making a mental note to drive a bit slower. He saw a glimpse of a smile in the rear-view mirror. "Hope you aren't flying like that," Wolf said.

Fox just sighed, unable to think of a retort. But now that he thought of it, he hadn't flown in what seemed to be forever despite it only being three weeks. "It's going to be tough working with you like this," he finally said. "When has Star Wolf done anything moral, anyway?"

"I'd like to think saving the entire solar system is a pretty moral thing." Wolf said.

"I mean other than that." Fox accidentally drove into a pothole, shaking the car and making him grunt. "Normally, _you_ would be the pirates we're taking care of."

Wolf just made a noise and leaned his head on his fist. "We aren't now. You're gonna have to get over yourself and work with us." Fox wanted to respond in some way, but Wolf kept going. "Besides, I wouldn't have even accepted if Ricky wasn't so damn persuasive . . . and suspicious."

Fox glanced over at Wolf, but he was just looking through the front window, unreadable. "What do you mean, suspicious?" Fox asked.

"He contacts the two most famous—or infamous I suppose, mercenary teams in Lylat to deal with petty pirates. And he says it's going to net Space Dynamics billions, yet he's only paying us twenty grand." Wolf put his hand to his mouth. "Sure, twenty grand is nice, but . . ."

"I honestly don't care," Fox said. "It's just something to do."

Wolf turned to look at him, but Fox was focusing on the increasingly-more-dangerous road. "Fox," Wolf said, "you're so naïve."

"Naive? I just trust people." Wolf grumbled and turned away. "Besides," Fox said, "Ricky's paying out of pocket."

"Whatever," Wolf said, "just keep an eye out for him."

"When have you been concerned about something like this, anyway?"

Wolf looked at him and smirked. "You have to know your shit to survive in the criminal world. How is _the_ Fox McCloud not concerned about something like this?"

"Hey…"

"By the way, what do you suppose I do in my free time?"

Fox raised an eyebrow and looked at Wolf, seeing an inquisitive purple eye and hazed gray eye looking back at him. "I don't get what you mean," Fox said.

"You're always surprised when I do stuff normal people do."

It never passed his mind, but now that he thought of it, he couldn't picture what Wolf did in his spare time. He really didn't know him enough to have a thought, but it was kind of funny, picturing Wolf laying on a couch, glazing over a newspaper, with some stand-up comedian blabbing on TV—

Wolf laughed—Fox must have been thinking about it too long. He just shrugged and said, "I don't know."

"Well," Wolf paused for a bit. "What do you do to pass the time?"

"Err…"

"C'mon, you're Fox. Please, tell me about these expensive night clubs you go to and the high-class parties you're invited—"

"S—I don't do anything like that. Just because I'm..." He felt the fur on his back bristle, remembering what Krystal told him yesterday. "Really, I'm pretty boring."

Fox put his attention back on the road. He felt like Wolf was looking at him, but he didn't say anything except for a small, "Hmph," a few seconds later.

The next few minutes passed in silence. Fox heard the low roar of an aircraft taking off, and a few roads later he saw the trademark Space Dynamics pillar bearing the company's logo on the top: the gold letters SD in a circle, and a silver jet flying between the two.

_Space Dynamics: the solutions are simple._

Fox drove up to the familiar building, parking close to the entrance. Wolf got out of the car with an exaggerated stretch. Fox exhaled and stretched his tail from the half hour drive before walking inside. The building didn't have much of a purpose other than holding some offices and documents, so other than a few ceiling-high plants and logos on the walls, it was, like the slogan, simple.

He instantly saw Ricky—well, a jet black canine in a powerful suit wasn't exactly hard to miss. He was walking towards them and smiled when he got closer. "Hey guys!" Ricky said, his voice with a relaxed air. Looking at him now, Fox realized he overestimated his height. "The Telecaster's back in the lot, in runway 712. I have to go contact the _Meridian_ and tell them you'll be on your way."

Ricky leaned forward as if to keep talking, but Wolf stopped him. "What?"

"Huh?

"What are you talking about...?" Wolf asked.

"Oh." Ricky laughed. "Oh, sorry. _The Telecaster's_ the mothership you'll be taking, since the _Great Fox_ is in repair and Star Wolf nor AstralBlue have one." Fox must have had a look of discontent; at least, Ricky went on like he did. "Don't worry, it'll fit you guys fine. And the _Meridian_ is the excavation and supply vessel that we're sure the pirates want to get at, and we'll probably end up using them as bait..." Ricky cut himself off. "I mean, nothing's going to happen to them, but you know what I mean."

"Yeah . . . " Fox said, wanting to say something to that scarily dangerous plan.

"Hey, you'd be surprised what people would do over this," Ricky said, smirking.

Wolf sighed. "And do you mind telling us what _this_ is?"

"Nope." Ricky laughed again. "I mean, you'll know, after you succeed."

Fox heard Wolf's familiar mumbling. "Well, one of my offices is upstairs," Ricky went on. "From it I can contact the Telecaster and the Meridian, as well as all of your individual aircrafts. The great thing about this is that all of your aircrafts were built by Space Dynamics, so we have universal communication back to the bases already built in. Plus, transporting aircrafts from multiple companies to one company's airlot is frustrating . . . we get through a lot of legal hoops this way." Ricky started to walk away, towards the stairs. "Good luck, guys!"

He was gone quickly—Fox forgot to ask him where the lot was, but he soon realized the question was obvious; down the hallway were two glass doors leading outside. A few steps later, he saw large ships sitting in the runways outside.

Wolf turned back to look at where Ricky left to. "He was rather eager to not tell us anything."

"Because we're just catching some pirates. It's not a big deal." Still, Fox couldn't help wondering why Ricky was in such a rush. It wasn't like they were late, and they probably weren't leaving for a while.

"Legal trouble, huh," Wolf muttered as they walked out the doors. "I'm not even supposed to be leaving the city."

"It's not like they'll be pissed at you for _helping_ someone," Fox said, squinting his eyes and looking for runway 712. The snow reflected the sunlight and glared his vision.

"I've got a feeling Sabas's gonna cling onto any piece of evidence that makes me look like a criminal." Wolf paused for a second, then smiled. "Not that I'm not, but. . ."

"Are you done with that? I mean. . ." Fox cut himself off—Wolf's inquisitive face made him feel uncomfortable. "I don't know, uhh. . ."

"Crime? Tch, the Aparoid Invasion let me off the hook." Wolf looked at him again. "There's not really a point now. Why are you worrying?"

"I'm not worrying, just asking," Fox glanced at the numbers on the signs of each runway. "And what do you mean there's not really a point now? The past how many years you've been on the run, organizing robberies and . . . whatever you do, and you just decide to stop?"

Wolf stopped walking, turned around, and chuckled. "You really think I'm that bad of a person?"

"No, I'm not saying _that_, just . . ." Looking at him now, face to face, he noticed Wolf didn't seem intimidating—maybe because the lupine was half-laughing. Wolf was more built and a bit taller than him, and his bionic eye was a contrasting grey against his good violet eye, which should have been suspsicious under most circumstances but still, Fox couldn't see anything that made Wolf seem like a ruthless criminal. "Just, why would you get involved in crime in the first place if it's not. . . something you want to do?" Fox cringed at his wording after saying this.

"I don't have delusions of being a mob boss if that's what you're asking," Wolf said. "And it's not like I _want_ to spend my life associating with thieves and murderers. I just got on the wrong side during the Lylat Wars."

"How'd that happen?"

"Complicated." Wolf started walking again. "I guess I don't have a problem with it, but living legally's much easier."

"I suppose." Fox glanced down at the signs; runway 712 was getting closer, but even without the signs, Fox could have guessed which ship they were taking. The only Dreadnought-class heavy cruiser in the airlot, _The Telecaster_ stood at an impressive height. Maybe it was only because of the body that seemed much larger than its wings could support, but it looked bigger than The Great Fox.

Hearing Wolf's footsteps right behind him, he walked up the steps into the cruiser. The first room in the docking area was awkwardly small, with only dimly lit light fixtures on the walls and two standard brown elevators. Fox followed Wolf in one, and after a push of a button, the doors closed and sealed with an airy whoosh. They stood in silence for a few seconds, only hearing the quiet sounds of the elevator chugging upwards.

"What's your team going to think of us walking in together?" Fox said, almost to himself. He looked over at Wolf's confused face. "I mean, we were out to kill each other for a long while, and now we're talking like friends."

Wolf looked up at the ceiling of the elevator and chuckled. "Are you _saying_ we're friends?"

"Err, not exactly," Fox said.

"Not exactly? Ouch."

"Well . . . "Fox tried to find the right words—he didn't mean to offend Wolf, but now that he thought of it, he laughed that he was considering a person's feelings who, only a few months ago, hated him.

"Fair enough, fair enough," Wolf said with a shrug and another chuckle. Shortly after, the elevator doors opened. The control center had a simple, yet impressive design; a large hologram device sat in a pillar in the middle, and there were multiple doors on the perimeter of the room. Multiple monitors sat on tables and hung on walls. Fox saw his team huddled around one monitor in a corner of the room, but as he walked over to them, he collided into something and tripped on the floor.

"Sorry, sorry!" the unfamiliar voice said. Fox pushed himself up and looked at the feline face of his speaker, who, despite being Fox's height, looked considerably shorter than him. "My name's Adrian Karr," he said, reaching out his paw for a handshake.

"Uhh, Fox McCloud. I assume you're part of AstralBlue?"

"Yeah, but it's just my sister and I," he said, motioning his head back. "She's over there, Natalie." They were unmistakably related, at least appearance-wise, with the same black and white pattern on their faces and arms. Natalie seemed to sense her brother was talking to her, and turned around with a small wave. "She's kind of . . . awkward though," Adrian said, pointing to his head and making a circular motion with his finger. Fox saw a slight twitch in Adrian's eyes that he tried to pass off as blinking. "Err, who did you just walk in with?"

"Wolf," Fox said, turning around and seeing that Wolf disappeared. "Why?"

"Nothing," Adrian said with a polite smile.

Wanting to find a room and take a nap, Fox checked out of the conversation and suddenly realized Adrian was waiting for him to say something."What are they doing?" he asked, pointing to everyone huddled around the monitor.

"It's just the messages and maps that Ricky left us," Adrian said. "Apparently he was going to tell us in person, but was really busy. He's kind of keeping us out of the loop, though."

"We're taking out pirates. How complicated could it be?" Fox noticed he said this with a little more bite than he wanted to.

"True, I just . . . I'm nervous regardless. I've only been doing this for two years." Fox gave a weak nod, and Adrian must have noticed his disinterest as he went on. "Anyway, I'm starving. I'm gonna grab a bite to eat before we go. The rooms are over there, to the left," he said, pointing.

Adrian walked away towards Natalie, and Fox took that as his cue to claim a room. He turned back over at the monitor everyone huddled around (_it's really only a clean-up_), and contemplated greeting the rest of his team, but that could wait some other time. Plus, seeing a certain blue vixen reminded him that he wasn't in the mood for confronting anyone.

He saw names written on whiteboards on the doors, so he looked for one that was blank, scrawled his name on it, and stepped inside. The rooms looked like generic hotel rooms, which was at least a refreshing improvement from most motherships. The room donned nice lights, their own showers _(thankfully_), and a soft, inviting bed. Fox took off his jacket and fell forward, burying his head in the soft pillow.

* * *

He must have fallen asleep, because the knocking at the door startled him. "Come in," he yelled, forcing himself up from the bed. Falco walked in his room, dressed in a red and white flight suit with the words Space Dynamics printed on his chest.

"Going all out with the product placement, huh?" Fox said. "I'm kind of disappointed."

"Yeah yeah, everyone's doin' it though," Falco said, patting down the wrinkles on his chest. "We're about to leave, lazy ass. You even know what we're doin'?

Fox stood up and looked in his mirror, straightening the fur on the top of his head. "We're just fending off pirates. It's not a big deal."

When he looked up, Falco's arms were crossed, and he was looking at something on the ceiling. "Probably."

"Why does everyone—"

"When are you gonna talk about what happened? Last night?"

Fox's ears twitched, and he sighed. He wanted to say, "_There's nothing to talk about, I'm fine,_" because he knew what Falco was going to say next. What came out was, "What do you mean?"

"You and Krystal. Now that you've broken up, do you, err . . . feel better?"

"I don't feel worse." The words came out involuntarily, and it took a while for Fox to realize what he said was true.

"So you still feel like shit, then?"

"Hey—"

"It's true. You haven't been yourself since the invasion. Which is funny, cause last I checked, everyone's alive because of you."

Fox ran his clawtips against his legs. "Please don't turn into her . . . "

"What do you mean? Just trying to figure out what's wrong with ya."

Something about Falco's questioning pissed off Fox. "I'm tired of talking. I feel like she only wanted me to 'talk about my problems' as if it's magically going to help whatever problems I don't have. I feel like she only did it so she could feel good for her half-assed attempt at making me feel better."

Fox's ears drooped as soon as he was done, and he looked down at the bed. "Is that how ya really feel about Krystal?" Falco said. "Damn, harsh."

"I—I didn't really mean that." Falco's, _'I don't buy it,'_ look made Fox sigh. "I mean, Krystal's a really genuine person. I'm sure she didn't — I just . . . haven't felt happy for a while, it seems."

"Hmm." For once, Falco's voice lost any hint of sarcasm. "You seriously undervalue how important you are."

Fox looked up at his friend's slight smile. "Thanks," he said. "But, I don't care if I'm important, I just . . . honestly, I'm pretty done with this whole thing." He saw Falco raise an eyebrow. "Mercernary work, that is."

"Whoa whoa, this coming from Fox McCloud?"

"Don't get me wrong, I like flying. But, _this_—" Fox nodded his head back to the control room of the _Telecaster_ "—this is getting tiring. Everything feels like a chore now."

He was only saying what was on his mind, but Falco's lack of response let him ponder what he said. It made sense; everyone expected so much of him, and honestly, anyone else could fill his shoes. It just happened to be him, son of James McCloud. He didn't feel like Fox McCloud — he felt like _the_ Fox McCloud. Something about realizing that made a small smile form on his face.

"Least it's a well-paying chore," Falco said. "And you're saving lives."

"Sure—"

"Look, you seem hell-bent on being an angsty teenager, so I'll just leave you alone." Falco looked at Fox's countenance and gave a weak laugh. "Just joking, jeez! I'm not the best at cheering people up, but uhh . . . yeah. We're about to get half a year's salary for a pirate mop up. And if you don't hurry, we're leaving you behind."

"Yeah yeah," Fox said, smiling. Falco walked out, and Fox quickly undressed into a white T-shirt and compression shorts. It was an old habit from the days in Cornerian Flight Academy—he could have put his flight suit over his pants and sweatshirt, but there was something more relaxing about wearing a form fitting suit during flight.

Before walking out of the door, he caught his reflection in the mirror. He knelt on the cabinet the mirror was standing on and stared at himself. Past the contrasting colors of his fiery orange fur and green eyes, and the mess of the fur he tried to hand-brush down earlier, he wasn't able to see much else.

"_This is the face of an unhappy man,_" he thought, with a slight laugh. Maybe he should have been worried, but he didn't care enough to ponder it.


	4. Soma

__Sorry for the lack of updates in a _long_ time. I'll seriously try to finish this soon.

* * *

_**Soma**__**  
**__And __I __am__, __stop__, __and __go__, __in __your __eyes__._

The vast expanses of space would normally calm Fox. Minutes of quietness hearing only his own thoughts, the relaxation of freely moving through the air, the view of the large planet Katina; those were things he normally enjoyed. Something was different this time however, and it cracked his nerves to the point where he was flipping through diagnostic windows on his dashboard just to keep his mind off it.

Part of the strangeness was the silence. It was silence he normally relaxed in but was now ripe with tension. Going on a tame, routine mission with Star Wolf didn't feel right; despite the Aparoid invasion, Fox couldn't completely trust Leon or Panther (or Wolf). And he didn't know the Karr's at all to talk comfortably with them.

Hell, right now he couldn't talk comfortably with his own team. Slip was never that good with relationships, and Falco, now doing lazy barrel rolls in front of him, his advice would amount to, "Get some bitches." Of course, being "the great Fox McCloud", that wouldn't be a problem. None of this should have been a problem. His relationship with Krystal wasn't that real anyway, but he knew that his bitterness wasn't stemming from that.

His normal self would have told him to man up, but that wasn't working, so he concentrated on the mission's briefing.

A message popped on his dashboard. Receiving communications channel. He didn't recognize the port number, but he assumed it was Ricky. The voice he actually heard was much older, more gruff, and less canid sounding.

"You are trespassing private airspace. Identification, or you will be arrested."

Private airspace? _The __Meridian_ was in view. It looked minuscule, unimportant, compared to the looming backdrop of Katina behind it. "I should ask the same," Fox said. "Who are you?"

" . . . McCloud?" the voice asked, more warmly, and Fox recognized it as the brown hare from yesterday. Bernhard. "My sincerest apologies. I didn't realize you flew with eight other people . . . in Wolfens and Templar Model-IIIs."

A pang of guilt hit Fox, realizing he accepted the same mission from Ricky he declined from Bernhard. "We're on a mission," Fox said, and unsure how to explain the situation, added, "All of us."

"I can't help but feel offended," Bernhard said.

"What in the hell's going on?" Panther's voice this time, and suddenly a near indecipherable mess played through Fox's speakers. He heard the coughing from Bernhard's microphone, people asking who he was, unrecognizable voices - presumably on Bernhard's end - asking us what we were doing. This was a nightmare. Why would Ricky hire all of them? Wolf was probably right; if this really was just a clean-up, there was no reason for him to hire Star Fox on top of two other competent groups.

Fox's thought of himself relaxing at home on his couch made him feel guilty and selfish. He accepted this mission, and he was going to perform at one hundred percent. "Everyone, quiet," he said, taking the lead of unspoken captain. Surprisingly it worked, and the talking died down. "Bernhard, what are you doing?"

"We're in the AT2 base about to deploy aircraft. We've identified the pirates to be close, but lost them a short while ago." Bernhard paused. "I'm sorry, but you should leave. This is government airspace, and your presence could throw off the mission."

"But this is my carrier," Ricky's voice said, joining in the transmission. "And legally, I can't and won't allow you to dock my ship."

"Identification!" Roars came from Bernhard's end of the transmission, and voices started clamoring again. Fox sighed, tempted to just shut off his radio.

"Shut up!" a voice yelled, presumably Natalie's. "Those pirates don't give a damn about our logistics," she said. "And clearly, communication isn't our strong point. Combat will be."

"They're not in our communications channel anyway," Adrian said. Fox was confused for a second, until he looked down at his console and saw only ten red comlink icons beeping. "Shoot first, questions later. It's easier this way."

The silence was certainly refreshing, but Fox was still confused how Adrian presumably just shut out an entire military faction's communication channel. Whatever - it really was easier this way.

No sooner did he think this did a flare of red energy engulf Fox's windshield. He yanked back on the joystick, diving away, and saw the fiery bursts in the reflection behind him. He drowned out the yelling, trying to see how much damage his shields had taken while trying to identify where the bomb even came from.

Amidst the yelling in his ears, Fox heard a voice say, "Someone follow him." Follow who? Frustrated, he shut off the intercomm and stared into space. Ten green, compact starfighters streamed from behind_ The Meridian_ and headed towards them. Viper models - compact and built for speed and raw power, not defense.

He could manage this. A few bullet shots and the pieces of scrap would go spiraling out of control, and by the looks of how the pirates were maneuvering, they weren't competent pilots. Fox clenched his hand around the joystick and fired bullets at the incoming squadron. Seconds later, blue lasers launched back and forth between the groups.

Another smart bomb narrowly missed Fox; the pirate who launched it broke off from the pack and soared away in a wide arc.

_Cut __him __off__._ The fighter was coasting at the top of its arc, preparing to come back down. Fox kicked on the boost, thrusting forward. He was far behind, but maybe he could intercept the bandit and join his path, right on his tail. Then all it would take is a few well placed shots to destroy the shields and knock off a wing. He gripped the joystick, his thumb hovering over the button at the top as the bandit drifted down into Fox's field of vision.

Red sparks sprayed against Fox's windshield. He yanked back on the joystick, sending his Arwing upwards and _damn __it__,_ that's what the guy wanted to happen. Fox's radar beeped. Positions reversed. The bandit was in his flight path now. Damn it, he was never cutting back down. He was cutting right.

"Missile detected," a voice said from the Arwing. Metallic and androgynous, and annoyingly unsympathetic.

Double-teamed. He pushed through buttons and menus on his display, getting to the cameras. Right wing camera: stray bullets, the rest of his teammates in the skirmish, and (still) ten bandits. Back: the red nose of a bandit fighter. Left: the unmistakable gas trail of a missile.

"Missile approaching long-range target zone."

The good news: it wasn't in range yet. He glided to his right, slamming on the boosters again. This wasn't good for the engine - the juice on his booster pack was running dry and he knew it, but he wasn't sure how strong the missile would be. The pirates were using cheap, out of circulation jets, but a missile is still a missile.

It didn't occur to him that thrusting his Arwing in a straight line would leave his original assailant with an easy line-of-sight to shoot. Bullets sprayed the back of the Arwing and bounced off the wings. Fox checked his HUD for the shield damage. Still at 92% - that was reassuring, at least.

"Missile approaching mid-range." Damn it. The closer these missiles got to the target, the faster they travelled at the cost of turning speed. Fox looked down to his radar in horror to see the bandit gaining on him too.

Fox slammed his fists against the dashboard. "I could use some help here!" he yelled. He doubted anyone would come in time to intercept either the missile or bandit; at any rate, he couldn't keep sailing in a straight line.

He took off the acceleration, yanked the joystick back, and quickly returned it to neutral, lurching his Arwing (and the contents of his stomach) upward. Suspended in air, Fox tugged and flipped his Arwing back, just in time for the bandit to zip past him. He slammed down the acceleration in pursuit and launched high caliber bullets. The enemy's fighter started to smoke, and he spiraled out of control towards the Meridian.

One down. But there was still the problem of the missile, which was now approaching faster. He could try to out-maneuver it, but he ran the risk of it contacting him in a sharp turn. He could use his Barrier Sphere, but the device was still in experimental stages and was only designed to take the brunt of bullets.

The missile was dangerously close. Fox didn't have a choice. He stomped on the acceleration and boosters, waiting to time the impact.

"Missile approaching 500 SMs," the warning said. Fox could mitigate the damage if he pulled away right as the missile hit the barrier. That is, of course, if the barrier didn't shatter completely.

"Missile approaching 200 SMs." It didn't matter what _would _happen. It only mattered if Fox performed what he could _now_. He stared at his rear camera, watching as the hunk of metal and its fiery trail got closer.

"Missile approaching 100 SMs."

Fox deployed his barrier. The blue, glossy sphere enveloped his Arwing and gave a deep tint of blue. He clenched, waiting for the missile to hit.

The sphere cracked, and an angry cloud of fire dwarfed Fox's vision. He lurched forward, almost slamming his head on the dashboard. His Arwing shook violently; the feeling rivaled atmospheric re-entry, and he was deathly afraid he may have lost a wing.

He could see the black expanses of space now, yet the shaking only subdued slightly. Fox ran through menus on the dashboard until a schematic of his Arwing appeared on the HUD. Both wings were intact, but his shields had dropped to 30%. Great. Even worse, two of the four G-diffusers were highlighted red.

Fox turned, seeing the dogfight taking place closer to the Meridian. As far as he knew, there were still ten pirates out there.

"Fox, do you hear me?" Nat's voice pierced in the Arwing, and he suddenly became aware of the shouting over the comm he tuned out earlier.

He was out of breath, but he managed to get the oxygen to say, "What?"

"Are you okay out there?"

"Yeah, yeah." Fox eyed the fight, trying to count the green starfighters. There were at least five still left. "Listen, they aren't using black market toys. Those missiles are military-grade."

"We kind of figured that out already." Fox's ears perked up - Krystal's voice this time. "What were you doing out there by yourself?"

Fox read the undertones in her voice, but this wasn't the time or place to retaliate. "Sorry, got distracted."

"Are you okay?"

_Sure__. _"Yeah, I'm fine. What's the report on—"

"Four remaining." Wolf's voice sounded almost foreign, authoritative and not laced with sarcasm. "Three fled, four flew to the hare's mothership. The rest are cruising around us."

"We're all in good condition." Now Falco's voice. "Well, I'm at 45%, and Slip's at 50%. But we're still good."

"You guys are reckless as hell," Leon said.

So it was as simple as shooting down four more ships; nine on four was pretty stacked odds. Fox picked the pirate ship closest to him and thrusted his joystick forward. He predicted correctly that the pirate would try to flee and clicked on the Arwing's turbo, lurching faster towards him.

Only a few hundred SMs away from one of the pirates, Fox felt a rumble through his Arwing. He pulled to turn back, but his joystick locked up. "What the hell?" he muttered, punching buttons on his console. His Arwing sputtered and rattled again, and the holographic icons on his console flicked off with an underwhelming beep. Whatever happened, it wasn't the pirate, as he was fleeing further and further away.

Right as Fox's HUD clicked back on, a new voice began speaking. "Closing our communications channels is illegal." Bernard's voice again.

"So is EMPing private property," Ricky responded.

Fox felt helpless, floating in space with an ineffective ship. His target had flown away, and he assumed the other three pirates remaining had escaped too. When he tried tugging at the joystick again, it gave a bit more leeway, so he managed to turn around and see the rest of the team, appearing just as helpless as he did.

By this point, Fox had tuned out Ricky's and Bernard's yelling in the transmission. He couldn't care about legal intricacies, and, given the fact that some of his teammates had already escaped to _The __Telecaster_'s loading dock, they couldn't either. A few more minutes of drifting in a black expanse of space, and Fox decided to as well.

The mission was essentially a failure, Ricky and Bernard were both high-strung, and Fox still had no clue what he was doing.

* * *

Back on _The __Telecaster_, Fox was washing his face in the bathroom. What was supposed to have been a simple mission turned into a complicated catastrophe. Had it been only Star Fox, all of those pirates would have been arrested at the least. It didn't help that Fox, finally able to admit it, was completely out of his zone. The whole situation was embarrassing.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a voice yelled at him. "Fox!" He jumped back and looked around before realizing the voice came from his comm, even though it had never rang. "It's Ricky! Get Natalie and Wolf and put this on holo."

Ricky's voice sounded excited, but also urgent. "Alright," Fox said. Finding them wasn't hard; the former was half-asleep, sprawled on a couch in the lounge room, and the latter was sitting by his Wolfen in the loading dock. Fox didn't greet Wolf, only flipping open his comm and turning on the hologram. "We're all here."

Pale green and static-filled, a miniature Ricky appeared from Fox's phone. He picked up a stack of papers, adjusted his tie, and put on a smile with his normal confidence. "Great," he said, rustling through the papers.

Wolf glanced up at Fox, eyebrow raised, then made an indiscernible signal towards Natalie and glanced back. Fox shrugged, not knowing how else to respond.

"Okay, short version," Ricky started, "is despite the ones that got away-"

"The seven that got away?" Natalie muttered. Aside from Ricky, they all seemed less than pleased.

, "Umm, yeah, sure." Ricky cleared his throat. "Anyway, the mission was still a success. We got what we were looking for."

"Mind telling us what that is, exactly?" Wolf said.

Ricky went on, ignoring Wolf's interjection. "But umm, I have another favor to ask. We need to know their motives. One of the pirates was too lazy to get a fake ID. He was from Zoness, country of Palma, and we ran background checks on him. His most recent crime, from two weeks ago actually, was from Helm Bay."

Fox opened his mouth to speak, but Natalie's voice came first. "We need to know what's going on."

"I'm telling you—"

"Ricky . . ." Fox stared at the comm in his hand. "I'm not accepting anything unless you tell us what you're doing."

"Alright, fine." Ricky put down the papers and smiled. "Do you want the short version, or the marketing version?"

Fox's silence forced Ricky to continue. "Okay. As of a few years ago, the major aircraft companies have been in a standstill in terms of technology. Us, Aerial-Tactical, Katinian Airfare. The main problem isn't that the future technology isn't there, but the operating costs of new technology don't justify the means." Ricky looked at Fox. "The current design of G-diffusers are flimsy enough."

"I know." Fox said this with a little more bite than he wanted to.

"To offset this, we've invested in technology the medical field's already interested in. Nanobots." Ricky turned to see everyone's confused reaction. "They're nanocomputers. Ten-thousand in one millimeter. They operate on swarm intelligence, each running on simple commands and algorithms that benefit the group. For medicine, it's precise, internal surgeries. For us, it's ship-repairs, those too costly, inefficient, and precise for people to do."

Natalie fumbled with her fingers. "And it wouldn't be a story if criminals didn't want this technology, right?" Her biting sarcasm was eerily similar to Wolf's.

"Kind of. The Meridian has been excavating an indigenous species of insect — ant — only found in the Katinian deserts. Their colonies operate closest to what we're modeling our nanobots after. I thought that some other aircraft company wanted the techonology — rumors spread, you know — but pirates? It doesn't add up. That's why I want you to figure out what's going on."

Wolf chuckled. "You're saying you paid us twenty grand each to protect insects?"

"Protecting those was very important." Ricky smiled again. "So are you for it?" When Fox turned to the other two, trying to read their faces, Ricky looked a bit agitated. "Come on, you're going to Helm Bay! It'll practically be a vacation!"

"Whatever."

* * *

Thinking about it, his non-committed response of, "Whatever," perfectly encapsulated Fox's emotions. What had all happened over the past weeks? He defeated the Aparoids, saved hundreds of millions of lives, started rebuilding a society, broke up with his girlfriend, and accepted a petty clean-up mission, and it all seemed the same in passing. Everything seemed to be a blur - not necessarily depressing, but not exciting either.

Fox sighed and looked around. Normally, the lounge room would have made Fox forget he was on a cruiser. The velvet carpet, crackling electric fireplace, television and hologram set - it reminded him of the Saturdays long ago spent in mid-scale bars in Corneria City's "party" districts, a time when Fox was young and still high off his successes from the Lylat Wars. Unable to reignite that spark now (ever), he watched his teammates enjoy themselves. Falco was playing - and beating - Slippy in air hockey, Natalie was flipping through news channels on the holo, and Panther was leaned against the pool table, chatting with Krystal.

Fox started to head for his room until he noticed Krystal was shooting him a concerning glare, and she made eye-contact too long for Fox to ignore her. She moved to him and was soon in close distance, still with an empathetic stare. "Do you want to talk?"

Fox crossed his arms and casually said, "Nope."

"Not about anything serious. I just want to have a conversation."

"I just want to go to sleep."

For a second, Krystal's facial muscles twitched, and she made a frustrated growl, but she relaxed with a sigh. "You know, you can be a huge . . . really offputting sometimes."

Fox still thought it was cute that Krystal always concealed her anger. "You can just say it. Call me an asshole." He smiled, but soon realized he was egging Krystal on and really was being an asshole. "Sorry, I'm just tired. We'll talk later?"

Krystal's entire body seemed to droop, but she looked up and forced a smile. "I'm holding you to it," she said, and it took Fox a little to understand that she was referring to his promise to talk later. "Serious."

She turned and walked back over to the rest of the team in the lounge. Fox had only said that to retreat quicker in isolation, but he supposed it was more than what he usually said to Krystal. Still, what could they possibly talk about? As if she thought Fox had this great, inner moral dilemma, and through talking they'd reach the perfect solution and make Fox happy.

Fox couldn't pinpoint if the truth was simpler or more complicated than that. But he was exhausted, so he headed back into the hallway and towards his room. Closing the door behind him, he half-jumped half-fell into his bed and laid there. It was just a generic carrier bed and not particularly high quality, but the room already had his scent, so he felt comfortable enough.

He eventually turned, laid on his back, and stared at the ceiling. He tried thinking about something, first the mission, then Krystal, then what he was going to do when he got back home - nothing particularly caught his interest. He felt stuck in a limbo where he was too tired to stay awake but not yet ready to fall asleep, so he wasn't certain how long it was until he heard a knock on his door.

"Come in," Fox said, still looking at the ceiling. The lock clicked and the door creaked open.

"Hey, not exactly friend."

Fox turned to his speaker. Wolf was standing in the doorway, arms crossed and leaning against the wall with an air of arrogance. He didn't look nearly as tired as Fox felt. "Hey," Fox said, pushing himself to a sitting position.. "What do you want?"

"Really don't like me, huh?" Wolf smirked (_that __same __smirk __he __always __did_) and walked in his room.

"No, I just meant - " Fox struggled for the words, and eventually clenched his bedsheets in frustration. Wolf seemed to never miss an opportunity to guilt trip him. The lupine laughed as he glanced at himself in the mirror, fixing his shirt. Fox sighed and scooted to the edge of his bed. "I'm just out of it," he said.

Wolf stared himself down in the mirror, trying to pick out stray strands of fur on his face. "I've noticed," he said, glancing back. "Not gonna lie, you kinda sucked out there."

Fox recalled his sluggish decision making in flight - the words hurt a bit more than they should have. "_Thanks__._" He couldn't help but feel a little awkward, watching Wolf mess with his fur in the mirror. "Why'd you come in here anyway? To berate me?"

"Well, maybe." Wolf turned around and walked towards Fox, leaning against the wall next to him. "Kinda just wanted to know what you were up to, since everyone else is out in the lobby room, playing pool." Fox shrugged. "Err, I'd play," Wolf continued, "but I suck ass at the game. Leon's just as much of a buzzkill as you are, Panther's been hitting on Krystal, and I'm not gonna pretend to be friends with the rest of your team."

Fox ignored his half-insult. "I'm not that into pool either," he said. "Besides, I don't know if I want to deal with Panther and Krystal right now."

"Were you really that into her?"

"Not especially," Fox said, looking down. "I mean, we were both pretty fake to each other, and ourselves. And we argued a lot. Sure, we were good friends . . . but I think trying to be more than friends messed it up." Fox looked back up, then chuckled that he was telling _Wolf __O__'__Donnell_ this, of all people. The older canine huffed his chest out and raised an eyebrow.

"You're laughing?"

"It's nothing. Besides," Fox said, "it's not Krystal. As bitter as I am, she's nice. Nah, I don't think I can deal with Panther's obnoxious flirting."

"Gods, you don't know the half of it," Wolf muttered. "Every time we landed at Zoness or Macbeth or somewhere for a mission, he'd try to get laid. If I'd known how he acted around women, I'd never have hired him.

In the midst of his laughter, Fox realized he never realized when Panther joined Star Wolf in the first place. Aside from a few wanted posters, the next time Fox saw the team since the Lylat Wars was the invasion a few months ago. "Why'd you have to hire Panther anyway?"

Wolf looked down in thought. "Leon and I couldn't run an outpost by ourselves. It's frustrating trying to hide a colony full of dipshit criminals, and Panther stood out by not being retarded." Fox must have reacted strangely, because Wolf laughed and went on. "What? Every time I mention something illegal, you make that face."

"It's not that," Fox said. "I never thought of it, I guess. I always imagined you guys were smuggling drugs, pirating, or something. Not running a base."

"How would you know? Just cause we're not employed by the government, doesn't mean all we do is dirty work." Wolf examined his claws. "Well, we were still leading a base of criminals, but it's easier being the managers. Makes me feel less awful."

His word choice showed some remorse even if his tone didn't indicate it. "You from six years ago," Fox started, "and you now - I mean, now, you don't seem like the type who'd be the, err . . ."

"Villain?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks, I guess." Wolf stretched the arm he was leaning on. "To be fair, you're awfully bitter for a hero."

Fox pushed himself up from his bed and stood, looking at his former adversary. This was the man he fought from the confines of his cockpit some years ago in the Lylat Wars, and the idea was hard to believe that they were contracted to kill each other at one point. Or were they? The memories were clouded; he couldn't tell if he hated Wolf at one point, but looking at him in person, despite being notably stronger, he seemed almost amiable.

"So we both don't fit the archetypes," Fox said, giving a look that Wolf soon returned. "Regardless, I doubt it was that simple back then."

Wolf made a sound in recognition. For a while, he was concentrating on something, and it looked as if his mouth half-opened to speak a few times, but all he said was, "It wasn't."

Wolf absent-mindedly bit his thumb, his eyes fixated on some non-existent object in the space below him. That cybernetic eye - an urge welled up in Fox to ask about it, but he kept quiet. Maybe some other time. Unanswered questions about the Lylat Wars - about _Wolf_ - buzzed in Fox's mind, but he didn't have the heart to ask them, so he pondered in silence and inwardly smiled at the realization Wolf was doing the same.

The thought formed the instant Fox said it. "Want to go to the lounge room?" Wolf looked back at him and pushed himself from the wall.

"Sure."

* * *

The most surprising thing was that Wolf really did suck at pool. Leaning against the table, the lupine hovered over the cue stick, gazing down the line of sight with the stillness of a sniper. He shot, but the cue ball skimmed the 14-ball and rolled into the pocket. Wolf exhaled and stood, still eyeing the table.

Fox was about to say something, but Wolf cut him off with a low mutter. "Don't even." Fox couldn't help but laugh. To be fair, Wolf wasn't _that _bad — although Fox had won the last three games and they hadn't exactly been close. But his light-heartedness was all he could make of the situation. The other option was silent awkwardness, playing a pool game with a man he'd been hired to kill only some years ago.

"For a pilot, your hand-eye co-ordination is atrocious," Fox said, quickly setting up to sink in the 5-ball. It went in, and Wolf crossed his arms in retaliation.

"Coming from you?" he said. "Killed Andross, yet can't deal with two garbage pirates on your tail?" It didn't help that Wolf joked about the past so easily. Fox eyed him, looking for signs of uncomfortableness. Tense shoulders, frenzied eyes, twitching tail — Fox didn't see any of those. Wolf was genuinely relaxed.

"Whatever." Years of being near Falco, and Fox still never got much better at comebacks. The cue ball rebounded from the opposite wall and hit both the 7 and 4 — the momentum barely carried the 4 into the pocket. The thoughts only came to him when they weren't talking, how strange it was. Only a couple of months ago did Wolf show any signs of kindness to Fox, and even then it was a life-death situation. Not exactly compelling.

Fox analyzed the table; he had one ball left, not including the 8-ball, compared to Wolf's five. "If it wasn't so much fun taunting you, this would be pretty boring," Fox said, smirking.

"Harsh, Fox. I thought you were nice."

"_How __would __you __know__?_" Fox imitated Wolf's low voice from earlier, but the lupine didn't seem to react. "Well, for one, I'm pretty damn competitive."

"Really? That why your girlfriend broke up with you?" When Fox didn't respond at first, he noticed a slight twitch of Wolf's tail, and the lupine leaned back against his cue stick. But Fox laughed it off and smiled.

"Yeah. I wouldn't let her beat me in anything." Fox was about to make another shot, but he heard the damp clicks of boots walking on wood. A few seconds later, Adrian appeared from the hallway, his fur looking as if he got in a fight with an industrial fan.

He gestured his hand in some sort of wave. "What are you guys doing?" he asked, his voice drooping.

A slight scowl forming on his muzzle, Wolf looked at the pool table and back to Adrian. "Playing football," he said, with biting-sarcasm as opposed to the playful-sarcasm Fox was used to.

Adrian rolled his eyes. "I just mean . . . yeah. I kinda woke up. Can I join in?"

Wolf shrugged. "Sure. I'm going to bed anyway." Fox glared, wondering why Wolf seemed suddenly hostile. "Night."

Wolf strolled past him and pushed Fox's shoulder, a bit too hard. The fighter in him had to struggle to keep his center of balance, and on one leg, Fox grabbed his pool cue for balance and simultaneously stood up and smacked Wolf's back with the cue. Probably a bit too hard, he thought, after hearing the resonating thud that accompanied the strike.

Wolf cringed, cursed, and pivoted on his feet. Fox could tell, from the way Wolf was preparing his weight back and the smile on his face, that he was going to strike at him. What he wasn't expecting was for Wolf to charge, right arm back and swinging at his chest. Fox sidestepped and grabbed his arm, using the older canine's momentum against him, but Wolf's strength overpowered him. He grabbed Fox's shirt and threw both of them on the pool table.

Fox gritted his teeth, bracing for the pain. His heart dropped before his back hit the table. The loud thud and the clatter of pool balls hitting the floor made Fox shut his eyes, and when he reopened them, the lupine was inches above his face, teeth snarled. Wolf gave a chuckle and loosened his grip on Fox arms, and he opened his mouth to say something.

"You dick," Fox said, cutting him off. Before Wolf could respond, Fox pushed his body back and kicked his chest. Wolf stumbled back, and Fox rolled off the pool table to run at the lupine. Preparing to punch, Fox quickly shifted his weight to his other foot and kicked to Wolf's chest.

Fox felt a hand on his ankle - apparently he didn't fall for the trick - and lost all balance, getting pushed to the ground. He looked up to see Wolf knelt over him, smiling. "_You __really __are __bad_," he said in a high, mocking voice. "I hope you're not always like this."

Fox knelt on his elbows behind him. "What was that all about?" he said, laughing. "You asshole, is this how you treat your friends?"

Wolf stood and reached a hand out, pulling Fox up to his feet. "You started it. That pool stick really hurt, you know?"

"It's called a cue."

"Oh, sorry, _pool master Fox McCloud_."

"Right, how old are you?"

Wolf smirked. "Five," he said, before shortly getting into fits of laughter. Despite himself, Fox couldn't help but laugh too. "I'm seriously going to sleep now. Don't hit me again."

Fox scoffed and crossed his arms, watching as Wolf walked around the corner to the hallway. Fox turned back around to the skewed pool table and rolling balls - and Adrian, who he'd forgotten about during the entire thing. Adrian's mouth-open, half-laughing face was a mix of confusion and surprise.

"What?" Fox asked.

"Nothing, nothing." Adrian looked down and picked up a pool cue. "Want to keep playing?" he asked, hitting the stick against the floor.

"Sure," Fox said. "I'm not exactly tired."

They picked up the stray pool balls rolling around and started to play. Adrian was embarrassingly better than Fox, much better - this embarassment was probably how Wolf felt. After Adrian's uncontested win, Fox forced a laugh and made an excuse. "I've never really played this much."

"Right," Adrian said, and Fox could see the underlying, "I think you're just bad," in Adrian's smile. Fox couldn't help but get a little annoyed. His comm buzzed in his pocket; picking it up, Fox saw two missed messages and a voicemail.

_ 5_

_ :__D_

He listened to the voicemail, already knowing it was going to be a garbled mess. Whoever was sending this to him was clearly trying to freak him out. Maybe it was bad Fox wasn't worried at all, but the messages were so juvenile that he couldn't take them seriously. He looked up at Adrian, realizing something.

"What was that thing you did in flight?" Adrian looked confused. "When you cut Bernhard off from our channel?"

"Oh, umm . . ." Adrian put his finger to his mouth. "Layman's version, I attacked their communication servers with too much data, so it shut down, and then I just changed our routing access so they weren't able to reconnect."

Fox blinked. "How did you do that with your-"

"I'm going to UCC for computer science and software engineering," Adrian said. "My parents put me through Cornerian Flight Academy for a few years, but I dropped out after I got my flight license. I just . . . didn't want to be in the military. I'm only really in a mercernary team for my sister." The feline chuckled with a flick of his tail. "Flying's scary as hell."

Fox scoffed. "Flying's amazing," he said. To each his own, he supposed, but there was something about Adrian's personality, the way he carried himself when he walked and his impossibly polite posture, all made him seem like he'd be a great pilot. At least, Adrian would be the last person Fox would suspect to be a script junkie.

"You say that because you're good at it." Adrian smiled, and Fox expected a generic praise of his name he'd heard hundreds of times. But Adrian didn't say anything else, and Fox felt kind of conceited. "So," the feline went on, "why did you ask?"

It took Fox a second to remember. "Oh, I keep getting these weird messages." Fox handed his comm to Adrian. "Some creep calls me at midnight every day, and leaves me texts and voicemails I can't hear. And the texts have been counting down from seven."

Adrian raised an eyebrow. "You sure this is real life? I swear I just watched this movie a few nights ago." The feline chuckled for a bit too long; Fox wasn't sure if he missed a joke. "The calls are coming from your own phone number, and you die at the end."

Fox forced himself to laugh. "Thanks for the heads-up. But honestly, this is a bit freaky, and I'd just like to know who the hell's calling me. Could you err, decipher it?"

"I'm best with computers," Adrian said, opening Fox's phone. "But I'll take a look overnight." Adrian pushed buttons, the corners of his muzzle forming in a small, suspicious grin.

"And I'd appreciate it if you don't look through my other texts." Fox wondered if his tone came off jokingly enough, but Adrian looked up and grinned. "I mean it," Fox said. Adrian put the phone to his ear, and Fox heard the garbled mess of sound.

A few moments passed in silence, Adrian going through the phone and Fox resetting the pool table. He looked up, about to tell Adrian good night and walk to his bedroom, but the feline cut him off.

"Do you know why Wolf's been avoiding me?" he asked.

"Huh? It doesn't seem like it. He doesn't know you anyway."

Adrian craned his neck over to the bedrooms, as if to check if Wolf was coming. "Nah, he's definitely has been. He seems . . . _defensive__?_" He scratched his chin. "I kind of knew him — at least met him a few times — before the Lylat Wars. I thought he'd at least want to say hi, or catch up, or something."

Adrian trailed off at the end, putting his attention back to the comm. Fox really wanted to ask how he knew him, but didn't know how without sounding over-inquiring, so he just said, "It's Wolf O'Donnell. He's a bit less than friendly."

"I dunno. You two've been flirting all day, so I just figured you'd know something."

If that was supposed to be a joke, Fox completely missed the humor. But Adrian was still tinkering with his phone, his expression not changing. All Fox managed to say was, "You're kidding, right?"

Adrian looked up, his face plastered with genuine concern. "What? Has something been going on? Am I missing something here?"

"_Nothing _has been going on," Fox said, arms crossed. "And _Wolf__?_ Really?"

Adrian stared at him for a few seconds, then the (obvious?) realization hit and his ears drooped to the side of his head. "Sorry, sorry," he said, flustered. "Just that, if you were doing that with like, Krystal, I'd call it flirting."

Fox wasn't sure of what to react to - the fact Adrian didn't get the memo that he and Krystal broke up, the ridiculous thought Adrian thought he and Wolf were flirting, or the more ridiculous thought - for a second at least - that Fox kind of understood what Adrian was seeing. "I guess I'm flirting with all of my friends," he eventually said.

"Okay, I'll shut up," Adrian said, flustered. "I'm bad at, umm . . ." He didn't finish the thought and stared at Fox's comm, pushing buttons again, so Fox filled in the blanks. Communicating? Adrian didn't look like a script junkie but he certainly seemed as awkward as one. Still, it was just an offhand comment, and he'd kind of overreacted, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

"Maybe that's why Wolf didn't want to talk to you." He said that with a smile, meaning for it to come off light-heartedly, but Adrian didn't look up or respond. "I'm going to bed," Fox said, heading towards his room. "Thanks for checking out my comm."

To this, Adrian made a grunt in response, and Fox felt okay enough to walk down the hallway, leaving the feline out of sight.


	5. The Modern Age

_**The **__**Modern **__**Age  
**__Stop __to __pretend__, __stop __pretending__._

Jet lag wasn't something you _truly_ experienced until you flew across different planets. Sprawled lazily across white sand, Fox stared at the shoreline of Helm Bay. There was something cathartic about beaches; the way the ocean rolled carelessly across the shore and the scents of fresh air all calmed his nerves, and his headache. The shift in time zones had taken a toll on his body that a trip to the beach seemed to fix.

Ricky wanted everyone to meet in _The __Telecaster__'__s_ conference room by 11 A.M., and unfortunately it was only a short while until that time. He decided to get up and brush the grainy sand out of his fur and clothes, preparing for the ten minute walk to the airlot. Further inland, the sensations of one of the top tourist destinations in Zoness seemed to attack him. Smells of local delicacies filled the air. Fox's eyes were barraged by a hosh-posh of festive colors, and he had to bump past an eager tourist here and there just to walk down the sidewalk.

Despite the crowdedness, Fox got lost in his own introspection. Relaxing on the beach let him enumerate some of his problems. First and foremost, he was exhausted and wanted to relax and go home. No dinner parties, no missions, just normalcy. Second, he needed to talk with Krystal. He wasn't happy, and he couldn't control that, but he was a bit of an ass to her, and that he could control.

Third, he realized as he went to the Space Dynamics airlot and headed towards their mothership, were Adrian's comments about Wolf. Yeah, the flirting thing was in jest, but he couldn't shake the fact that the man was genuinely interesting. He wanted to learn more about him, but needed a better method than, "Good morning, how'd you let Andross hire you?"

As he walked in the first docking room of _The __Telecaster_ towards the elevators, he checked his watch. 10:51. Not exactly late, but everyone else was surely expecting the leader of Star Fox to be a bit more punctual.

Sure enough, by the time he got up the elevator to the conference room, everyone was already sitting at the office-like, rectangular table, engrossed in conversation. The seat at the head of the table was reserved for a hologram device that looked like two silver dinner plates stacked on top of one another. Fox pulled out a seat in between in Falco and Adrian, giving a slight head nod to both of them.

He was about to sit there tapping his foot for a while, until he remembered something. "Adrian," Fox started, "did you find out anything about those messages?"

Falco glanced at him with an eyebrow raised, and Fox tried his best to nonverbally say, _I__'__ll __tell __you __later_. "Sorry, I couldn't really decode anything," Adrian said, reaching for Fox's phone in his pocket. "Everything was so heavily obfuscated. I can't make out the voice nor the actual words in the message. And there's no sender on the calls or texts."

"Yeah, I figured that out," Fox said.

"No, I mean, I can't for the life of me trace anything about the messages. Normally I'd be able to find the general area the person sent the messages from, or at least their mobile device information, or their carrier, or something. But nothing at all. I'll keep working on it, but you can have it back for now."

Fox smiled. "Thanks, I really appreciate it." He couldn't help but think about how this guy he didn't know well probably stayed up hours last night to help Fox with something he himself didn't take too seriously. It's not as if it hadn't happened before either; right after the Lylat War, stalkers somehow got his phone number all the time and gave him annoying calls. Although, this person was taking great lengths to be particularly irritating . . .

"And about last night too," Adrian said, "sorry about what I said. I didn't think, err . . . yeah."

Falco raised another eyebrow, and Fox almost broke a sweat trying to make Adrian stop talking. He tried to shoot Falco another _I__'__ll __tell __you __later _look, but he only ended up laughing at the thought of the situation. "It's fine, Adrian," Fox said. "I was in a grumpy mood anyway, sorry about that."

Adrian nodded. "I heard you broke up with," he began, but he seemed to realize that he was talking about someone sitting only two seats away rather loudly, so he gave a nervous smile.

Fox smiled back. "It's fine, really." He glanced up at the blue vixen, who was sipping a glass of water with an air of innocence. He felt a pang of guilt pulse through him, but he pushed it aside for now. Despite Adrian's ineptitude of talking about the right things, something about going to the beach this morning relaxed Fox to the point where he wasn't too upset. "It wasn't about that, either. I was just having a bad day, is all."

"Just weird to imagine, though, that Fox McCloud has his bad days."

He cringed at hearing his name, Fox McCloud, said in that tone. That annoying and awfully familiar, hero-worship-y tone. "I'm not some amazing entity," Fox said. "I'm just a normal person."

"Sorry, sometimes I get swept up in the hype about you," Adrian said with a light laugh. "It's just weird to think that you, _the __Fox __McCloud_," Adrian made finger quotes when he said this, but it still irritated Fox a bit, "put up with the same menial crap in life that the rest of us do."

The rest of us? It was hard to stay relaxed listening to this trite nonsense. "Yup," Fox said, looking at his watch again. No sooner did he see that it was 11:01 did Ricky's green hologram appear down the table.

"Sorry everyone," the hologram said, straightening his tie. "I know I'm a bit late." _Leave __it __to __Ricky__'__s __hasty __personality __to __be __worried __about __being __a __minute __late_, Fox thought.

"This is just going to be a quick briefing," Ricky said. "Starting with the preface: Space Dynamics could soon have revolutionary new nanotechnology. We'll net billions in savings due to our ability to make more efficient ship repairs and military engineering. But, what's concerning is that somebody else wants this. Someone had to have sent those pirates out to Katina, because this is not something those types of low-lifes would have found out by themselves."

Ricky paused for a bit, then continued. "It has to be some other big name aeronautics company that's in for this. My main suspect was Katinian Airfare, until I saw one of the pirates was from Zoness, and they have no bases there. They could have hired someone from this planet to defuse suspicion, but . . . no, it's probably someone else. It may be A-Tac, Aerial Tactical, as they operate primarily on Zoness and Corneria."

If the canine was looking for a response, all he got were blank stares. "Whatever the case, I feel that it's most beneficial, obviously for us but for the entire Lylat System, if Space Dynamics patents this technology first. As the primary defense contractors in the system, I feel that it is our responsibility to bring all Lylatians just that: better defense. However, I also need to find all the other companies that know about this technology to work with their special interests and ensure this field heads in the right direction."

"You're already in the lead with this nanobot tech, is what you're saying," Slippy interjected, "so why not just continue developing it and wait for them to come to you? I mean, what's the purpose of our being here?"

"Well, Space Dynamics_ is_ a business," Ricky said. "If we want the most profit, the entire nanotech market needs to see that Space Dynamics is in the lead and not worry about investing in their own side projects. Otherwise, the entire market's in a mess. We'd be spending half of our money just trying to out-compete each other. But anyway . . . "

Ricky pulled up a diagram of an ID on the hologram. The name on the card was Daniel Romero, a scraggly, middle-aged feline with matted brown fur. "This is one of the men we now have in custody, and his ID marks him from here, Helm Bay. I want you guys to find out who contracted him, or at least, dig up anything you can on his personal life. We need to see what kinds of people they're dealing with."

"And second," Ricky continued, leaning closer, "we need to find anyone who knows anything about the nanocomputers. We'd preferably need to find the nanotech itself. If my hunch is correct, there's a storage of them somewhere in Helm Bay. I'll bring you guys sensors tomorrow when I get there. They're like Geiger counters for nanoparticles. Still, keep your eyes open."

"But, nanotech isn't new," It was Adrian this time. "What's special about them now?"

Ricky grinned. "That's the secret. This _is_ something special. I'm sorry really; I'll tell you all about it once we release the technology."

No one appeared to have any complaints past that. "Got it?" Ricky asked. When everyone nodded, Ricky smiled and closed his binder. "Alright. I'll be there tomorrow with the sensors."

* * *

Fox didn't say anything earlier because it was generally bad form to argue with your contractor. But now, as he was walking around Helm Bay with Falco, Slippy, and Krystal, he couldn't help but think how inane Ricky's proposition was.

First were the problems of finding anything useful about this Daniel Romero person. Before they left, Slippy searched for his information online and found out that he'd worked as a fisherman, then dock worker over the past years. Most people in Helm Bay did those things, so it wasn't unique at all. Everyone they had asked either didn't know Romero (expected) or told them that he was a strange character and something felt off with him (obvious, considering the type of people who accept an illegal piracy mission).

Second, and more pressing, was what Adrian had brought up. Nanotech wasn't new; Fox remembered exhibitions in the science museum when he was younger displaying how nanobots helped with athletic surgeries for sports players. Something wasn't quite right about Ricky's craze for this technology anyway. Fox already assumed he was hiding something larger behind his ruse, but when Falco flipped through a newspaper earlier and read about A-Tac's hyping up of a "new, revolutionary technology," Fox found it strange that other companies were too. While not exactly dying, the industry seemed like it needed major revitalization to be profitable.

So a few hours later with the rest of his Star Fox team, he hadn't learned much more about what Ricky wanted, or about Ricky himself. None of them were exactly enthralled to be in humid Zonessian weather, walking store to store and asking locals about some random, criminal feline, but that's what they were reduced to.

Eventually, they'd given up attempting to accomplish anything. As they started walking back, Falco and Slippy naturally walked a bit faster than he and Krystal, and the two ended up talking about something farther ahead of them. Krystal never walked rushed, instead taking the time to survey and appreciate her environment, and Fox couldn't be bothered to walk faster.

Still, he felt like he had to do something at this opportunity. Krystal was awfully content today and, despite multiple chances, hadn't attempted to ask Fox about his_ feelings__—_Gods, even thinking the word, he said it in that snide, condescending tone. He hated the topic, but he may have hated himself more for being such an asshole to someone who just wanted to help him.

"Krystal." The name came out softly, in part so Falco and Slippy wouldn't hear ahead of them. The vixen flicked an ear up in response. "I'm sorry."

It took his brain a while to recognize those were the words he'd wanted to say all day. "I'm sorry for being such a jerk. I know you truly wanted to help me out, but it was easier for me to ignore it and push the blame on you rather than do anything about it."

Krystal glanced over at him for a second, her eyes seeming to understand, then turned back forward. "Okay," she said.

Had it been Falco, or Peppy, or anyone really, Fox would have accepted that response and moved on, but it was too passive-aggressive for the Krystal he knew. "Err, what do you mean by okay?"

She turned again, this time with hints of a smile at the corners of her muzzle. "I mean, okay. It was rather mature of you to admit that, Fox. It's nice."

Fox was confused at first, but started to understand that Krystal was playing _that_ game. The game where Krystal decided Fox and she should both guess what each other is thinking, but Krystal's insight made sure she won every time. "You're leaving something out," Fox said.

"So are you."

Suspicions confirmed. Fox's face must have given the realization away, because Krystal chuckled. "Okay, I'll bite," Fox said. "I'll guess first. Something about Panther?"

Krystal's eyes widened a little, as if she didn't expect him to say that. "You know," Krystal started, forming a smile again. "In most relationships, the ex doesn't talk about the other person's . . . umm . . . _threat_."

Fox couldn't help but laugh at her word choice. "Threat? Besides, I don't think what we had fell under a typical relationship."

The words felt dry coming out of his mouth. Had? Fox didn't want romance between them, but the past tense made it sound as if they weren't close any longer. Krystal seemed to think nothing of it though. "You're correct in that thinking. But Panther? That's not at all what I meant earlier."

"Was I close?"

"For a world class mercenary, you sure are clueless at reading people."

Krystal smiled again, and Fox could only whine. "It's not fair; you have a natural advantage."

They kept walking for some more steps. "My turn," Krystal said, with a less cheery voice this time. "I'm guessing you're still . . . not quite you yet. And I'm guessing our relationship isn't why you were upset in the first place."

Fox glanced over at Krystal, but her eyes were fixated forward, lost in thought. His own reflections of their relationship weren't exactly pristine; everything felt forced and unnatural. Even basic signs of affection, holding her body, kissing her—it seemed second-guessed and not genuine. Showing affection seemed like too much cognitive work. "It wasn't," he finally said, but it was weird to admit to Krystal that his feelings for her weren't true.

"Don't worry about it. I didn't know what I was doing either."

At least the lack of feelings were mutual. That was relieving. "Still, if you're looking for a solution to my depression, good luck."

Krystal gave an exaggerated, childish sigh. "I mean, it's fine. Honestly, I wanted you to open up a little, and you did that. However, you can't keep wallowing in your own pity forever. Part of me thinks you like this."

"Well, what's your advice? The girlfriend avenue didn't work, and I don't think it was exactly your fault."

"That was both of us. Besides, you need to be happy on your own before you try being happy with someone special."

Fox was about to ask what Panther was about then, but the only ways he could phrase it sounded malicious. Still, he wanted to know what magic Krystal was on if she managed to solve her own problems in just a few days.

"Want to hang out tomorrow?" Krystal asked. "Now that we're just friends, I feel like we can communicate less awkwardly. Plus, it'll be good for you to get out a bit."

Fox thought about it, but he preferred not to have more introspective talks. "I'll pass, sorry. I've been out long enough today as it is; my body's not exactly suited for the tropics."

"It's fine." With that, the rest of their journey back to _The __Telecaster_ was in silence.

* * *

Shouting. Gunshots. Banging at the door. How long would it be until the burglars busted through? Reaction told him to reach for his blaster, but as he rolled, stumbled out of bed, and poised to face his attacker, he realized that the robber at his door was Falco, and his blaster was a pillow.

Falco broke down in obnoxious laughter. Fox blinked a few times, trying to transition out from his dream world and acclimate to the real one. Between his heaving, Falco managed to get some words out. "You . . . holy shit . . . Fox, you're pathetic."

"Pathetic?" Fox imitated blaster motions and spun the pillow on his index finger, then pretended to hook it to his belt. "Nah, I'm prepared."

Falco laughed more. "Right, right." Fox couldn't tell if the avian was legitimately wiping a tear from his eye or just making the motion. "Listen, Ricky stopped by and dropped off little detector necklaces. I was gonna ask if ya wanted to go through Helm Bay, go to the beach, do tourist stuff and try to find anything. We're goin' as a group again."

Fox didn't quite comprehend everything he said, but he assumed by group, he meant team Star Fox. "Nah, I'll probably stay here," Fox said. "As you can tell, I just woke up."

Another laugh from Falco. "I don't think you've woken up yet," he said, heading out the door. "Whatever. Later."

As Falco left, Fox sat back on his bed in confusion. He definitely wasn't awake enough for any critical thinking at this point. Besides, he turned his head to the window and noticed it only just broke daybreak. He laid back and justified sleeping in another hour or two.

* * *

This time, Fox woke up without any drama and was much more conscious. He lifted himself out of bed, went to brush his teeth, washed his face, and fixed his fur in the mirror before heading out to the main room. No one else was there except for Wolf, who had the television flipped on some news station. He walked over and rummaged through the fridge before forgetting that, oh yeah, they were on a mothership, so all they had was freeze-dried muck..

Fox contemplated going out to get food, but felt a bit weird leaving Wolf in the ship by himself. "Hey, where is everyone else?" Fox asked.

Wolf was leaned forward in his chair and didn't turn around. "Your team's looking for the nanobots. Panther went out, or he might be with your team, I honestly didn't listen to him. Adrian and Natalie went to scope out an A-Tac bureau near the shipyard. Leon's in his room."

Hearing Adrian's name reminded him—he reached into his pocket and checked his comm. Sure enough, another message from his favorite stalker, this time from 6:30 AM (apparently midnight Cornerian Standard Time). One missed call, a voice mail, and two messages. The voice mail this time was heavy breathing for a few seconds, then it ended. Fox checked the messages.

4

HAHA. HAHA. HAHA.

Creepier this time, but there wasn't really anything Fox could really do about it. Still, Fox was concerned as to what would happen when the count reached 1, or 0. By this point, Wolf had turned around and was watching him tinker with his phone. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," Fox said, putting the phone back in his pocket. "What's with your fascination of the news today?"

Wolf flopped back in the couch. "It's nothing."

"Well," Fox said, arms crossed, "I guess we both have secrets."

"Hmm." A few seconds passed in silence, then Wolf spoke up again. "Your sensor's over on the table."

Fox turned to the sole necklace on the table. The pendant was a small metallic circle with a red dot inside of it, and it was attached to a cheap, brown lace. As Fox put it around his neck, he turned back to Wolf. "How did Ricky say these things worked? I wasn't awake when he showed up."

"That circle on the pendant heats up and turns green when we're close enough to dormant or active nanobots. Ricky wants us to dick around the city until we find something." Wolf turned around, arms across the back of the couch, and gave a lazy smirk at Fox. "And it's fine. Puppies need their sleep."

"That hurt, Wolf." Fox smiled and looked down at his pendant. He wasn't sure how much effort he wanted to go through perusing the entire city, but it couldn't hurt to be on the lookout while he got breakfast.

As he was mentally preparing to leave, he glanced back at Wolf, engrossed in a story about Macbeth's economic troubles. A crazy idea popped into Fox's head, but no sooner did he grin than did he feel his ears droop again. Adrian's words from the other night rang in his head. _You two've been flirting all day_. If Adrian thought his talking to Wolf from the other night was flirting, he'd definitely think his plan now would be a date. Besides, it was a bit weird that he was so ready and content to spend time with his former rival.

There were those words again. Former rival? He wasn't sure whether to be silly to be even worrying, or to be silly to repair a years-long hatred of one another with a few days of talking. But his gut told him that Wolf wasn't planning on hurting him at any point, and, besides, Adrian wasn't there to make childish comments. As if Fox would be going on a date with not only another male, but Wolf O'Donnell at that.

"You're under house arrest, right?" Fox asked. "When we go back to Corneria, I mean."

Wolf's ears perked up, and he turned around to look at Fox. "_Really__?_ News to me."

Fox laughed. "Hey, shut up. My point is, I don't think you'll be getting the opportunity to vacation anytime soon. If we're having to go all around the city to find these nanocomputers," Fox gestured to his necklace, "can I show you around Helm Bay? We can do all the stereotypical touristy stuff, and no one cares who you are here."

The older canine raised an eyebrow. He opened his mouth, looking as if he would protest, but instead shrugged. "Sure. Yeah, let's do that."

Easier than he thought. As the Wolf got up and stretched, Fox felt a weird mix of emotions. The hilarity of the idea, him being a tour guide to one of Corneria's formerly most wanted criminals, was amusing, but a small hint of concern loomed over him. And while he was sure to enjoy the day—it would certainly beat staying in his bed—he couldn't pinpoint why he was so eager to be spending time with Wolf.

* * *

Breakfast with the man had been entertaining. On normal days, he would have tried to avoid half an hour of snarky remarks and trivial conversation, seeing as how he got more than his daily dose from Falco, but Wolf seemingly had no shortage of the former and made the latter interesting. The entire time, something had been nagging at Fox, to ask what was going on with Wolf's past and what Wolf (and himself) was trying to do, but he thought better than to ask anything. It was nice, for once, to talk with somebody who expected nothing more from Fox than to just be a person.

So for the next few hours, Fox showed Wolf around the city, enjoying the carefree Zonessian spirit for as long as he could hold on to it. He showed him along the local shops on Night Strip, went through the historic monuments in Helm Dome, and somehow Wolf had convinced him to rent a gondola ride through the canals of the city.

"It's kinda polluted," Wolf muttered, dragging a claw tip along the surface of the water. Fox didn't appreciate being the only one rowing, nor did he appreciate Wolf's ignoring Fox's complaints of getting a gondola in the first place.

"It's kinda your fault," Fox replied. It seemed to take Wolf a few seconds to remember the actions of the Lylat Wars, but he laughed when he did.

"Kinda. Although, I didn't care too much back then. Never expected myself to be riding through the canals of Zoness some years later with Lylat's hero."

There it was again, the nonchalant reference to a time when both wanted each other dead. And now they were acquaintances? Friends? As he pushed an oar through the water, he glanced at the other gondolas in the canal, filled with sappy couples fawning over each other. He turned back to Wolf, who was admittedly well built, and his white V-neck accented his bulky muscles. Undeniably attractive—if Fox were into that. He shook his head. Obviously, he and Wolf weren't dating, but it didn't make the setting any less strange.

But something clicked in his mind. He spent so much time fretting over his perception and expectations that he didn't stop to imagine Wolf's perspective. They were both among the best pilots in the system, except, unlike Fox, Wolf was a convict for six years. The lupine's past, and really his present, remained a mystery, so Fox had to assume opportunities like this to be normal were a rarity. Rowing on the slightly polluted, overhyped canals of Zoness was about as civilian as you could get.

"You alright?" For once, there was genuine concern in Wolf's voice.

"Just thinking."

"Don't think too hard. Looks like you're gonna hurt yourself."

It was a playfully snide remark, yet Fox took it to heart. He was overthinking things. He didn't know what was going on, and didn't care how strange and unexpected it was for him to be sitting on a small boat with his former rival, because _damn __it_, he was going to enjoy himself.

* * *

Walking down the less-crowded sidewalks of the inner parts of Helm Bay, Fox was reminded that _oh yeah, he's on a mission_ when Wolf tapped him on the shoulder and signalled over to a TV news set in a shop window. CBN was broadcasting, and on the TV screen was news anchor Dan McHollan, the sleek doberman, interviewing a shorter beagle in a labcoat. The noisy clamor of Helm Bay nearly drowned out the already quiet audio, but closed captioning was thankfully turned on.

"If I'm not mistaken," McHollan started, leaning closer into the desk, "you're saying theoretically, one could live . . . forever?"

"Well, yes and no," the beagle said. "The common body does have limits. At a molecular level, we are easily decomposable. Unlike trees, our bodies can't stay put for thousands of years no matter what technologies we have." He paused. "However, nanotechnologies can still substantially elongate the common life span, as well as increase its quality. Imagine being as fit as you are now, but fifty years from now. That's the reality you're imagining."

Fox glanced up at Wolf, but the older canine's gaze was still fixated on the screen. McHollan gave a hearty laugh. "Well, I'll certainly be looking forward to that."

"Maybe," the beagle said again. "The technology's heavily in development. We're still working on perfecting basic surgeries with the aid of nanotechnology. But it is a real possibility that your grandchildren or great grandchildren will experience much longer and healthier lives."

"I'm sure we're all hoping so, Allington. And one final question. We've already discussed the ethical debates of this technology, but what of the practical ones? Is it volatile? Many speculate that one of your buildings had to be relocated in Zoness two years ago because the old one didn't have the capabilities of handling nanotechnology."

A chuckle came from Allington. "Yes, well, we did have to relocate partially because of this. Much like you wouldn't try to produce nuclear energy in your garage, we didn't want to risk producing nanotechnology in an inadequate building. However, that's still a long term outlook. The immediate reasons for the move were boring, things like cheaper utilities, more space, and the like."

The shot cut back to the doberman. "Alright, we appreciate your time very much. Ronald Allington, Director of Chemical Development at Aerial Tactical Aeronautical Industries. Thank you. Next, how will effective economic development occur in a war-ravaged Lylat System? But first, the story of a woman who . . . "

Something about that broadcast worried Fox, even though there wasn't much new information. A-Tac was already developing nanotechnology, no secret, and that beagle's appearance on CBN seemed more of a plug for the company rather than an immediate plea for direct investment; still, Fox felt notably more tense.

Was it the beagle himself? He didn't seem mischievous. No, something about the relocation in Zoness? Something was off . . .

Fox turned up to Wolf, whose gaze hadn't broke from McHollan's reporting. Briefly, Wolf's eyes turned to Fox's, but Wolf looked just as confused as Fox did. "Fox," he started. "What the hell are we supposed to do about this?"

Fox furrowed his eyebrows. They definitely weren't thinking about the same things. "What are you talking about, this?"

"Exactly. Do you notice anything illegal here? I doubt A-Tac is in the wrong." Wolf exhaled and stepped away from the shop window. "I mean, I highly doubt they stole research from Space Dynamics that they themselves already had. Modelling nanobots after some Katinian insect? Nanobots already exist. The only suspicious part of any of this is Ricky."

It was a foreign feeling for Fox, questioning the motives of his employer. Then again, Fox had never been in a predicament like Wolf's, where every other employer probably wanted to kill him. "Maybe nothing wrong's going on per se, but I feel that we're getting into business battles," Fox said. "And I don't know much about commercial law."

"No, Ricky's hiding something," Wolf said. "Who the hell hires three mercenary teams to protect a technology that already exists?"

Fox felt the sinking feeling in his stomach before the realization actually clicked in his mind. "It's not just Ricky hiding something. You know how A-Tac relocated? Two people were found dead recently in their old supply building, in Encinitas. Near here." This seemed so obvious—why had no one else known about this? "And they didn't mention anything about it on McHollan's report."

Wolf gave Fox an inquisitive glare. "What newspapers are you reading? I heard nothing about that."

Fox stared. "The Daily Solar." It wasn't exactly a fringe paper.

"I read the most recent edition and don't recall that piece."

"What?"

"Let's go to that Starbrews," Wolf said, pointing down the street. "You look for the newspaper, I'll get online and see if they had any revisions right before publication."

As they jogged across the street, Fox couldn't help but shake the strange feeling, that the timing of all of this was wrong. Why would major aero companies invest in new technology when entire cities had to be rebuilt?

"Something must have happened in the aeronautical world," Fox said, opening the door to the coffee shop, "to warrant businesses to care about nanotech in the first place."

Wolf walked to a table and got on one of the store laptops while Fox went to a newsstand. It was small, but had the most recent edition of The Daily Solar, so he popped in a credit and snatched the paper from the dispenser. Sitting back down with Wolf, he tried to find the page he remembered seeing the story on.

"Reconstruction?" Wolf asked, referring to Fox's statement from earlier. "The Aparoids fucked everything up, and they're competing to see who can rebuild the fastest?"

"No," Fox said. "Doesn't seem profitable enough." He looked everywhere in the paper for the story, but he couldn't find it for the life of him.

"Do you have an express subscription of The Daily Solar?" Wolf asked.

"Yeah."

"That's why." Wolf turned his laptop screen around to show the newspaper's online website. "There was a reprint almost an hour after the first papers came out. Reason being, typos." Wolf sneered. "That sounds like bullshit."

The air felt much more grim around Fox. Here he was, sitting in a coffee shop in a famous tourist destination, and not more than ten miles away, a major company was covering up two deaths. "What the hell . . . "

Fox buried his head between his arms on the table. Something's not right about this timing. Only weeks after the Aparoid Invasion, companies are after some irrelevant business, Ricky's hiding something, A-Tac's covering up murders and (probably) sending pilots to protect some insect on a desert planet that even environmentalists haven't complained about yet—

His heart plummeted. It seemed almost too obvious now.

"Wolf, remember how the Aparoids operated?"

Wolf glanced up from his computer screen. "What do you mean? Swarm intelligence . . . _oh __fuck __no_."

Fox nodded. "These companies are using Aparoids to build their nanotech."

For the first time, Fox saw a Wolf that looked deathly pale. The lupine stared at him for a few more seconds before looking back down at his computer screen, brows still furrowed. "They all died," Wolf stated. "We destroyed their homeworld."

"Probably, but the first planet they invaded was Katina, and Ricky said almost verbatim we were supposed to protect some insect species there that operated on swarm intelligence."

Wolf hadn't looked up from the screen. "So, every insect ever? Not much of an argument."

"It's the only thing that makes sense, Wolf." Fox was getting a bit irritated. "I don't know how they worked—no one knew. It's why biologists, chemists, all those types were up in arms because they thought not a single one survived and they had nothing to study. And here it is, the perfect opportunity."

Wolf grunted. "Come on Wolf," Fox continued, "nothing else fits. Ricky hired three mercenary teams, two being among the top in the system and who had direct experience fighting Aparoids, so he'd get ensured success. A-Tac only covered up two deaths because they'd be shut down for harboring the very thing that killed nearly a fifth of Corneria's military." Fox paused, and stared at Wolf. "Why are you in denial?"

Fox saw the older canine's tail flick. "It's not denial," Wolf said. "It's skepticism." He looked up to meet Fox's eyes, and for a second looked as if he would say something, but he sighed instead. "If you're right, then what do we do now?"

"Walk to Encinitas and go to A-Tac's old warehouse."

Wolf chortled. "Ballsy, Fox."

"What else can we do?" Fox asked. "Tell the team?"

"Ricky will notice if the entire team is suspicious, and then we'll probably get cut off this whole operation." Wolf frowned. "We should probably do this covertly."

Thinking about it, that ironically was the more brash of the two options. "Then walking it is."

* * *

The sun beat down on them. It was still mid-afternoon, and the streets were ripe with festivity. Fox's mood couldn't have contrasted with his environment any more. It hadn't been more than a few minutes after they left the Starbrews, and Fox already felt his muscles jittering. He wasn't sure if the pangs in his stomach were from his not eating in a while, or his uneasiness from his decision.

He brought his fingers up to his necklace and played around with the sensor. What were they supposed to do when they got to the building, anyway? Tell off the receptionist? Fox wasn't sure how far A-Tac would go to keep the secret, or if he was correct at all. But if the alternative was risking the system be exposed to a second Aparoid threat, then he had to do something.

No sooner after letting go of his makeshift necklace did he feel the chip heat against his chest, almost singeing his fur. Fox grabbed it for reconfirmation and saw the light turn green. He stopped, turning his head to look for anything or anyone suspicious. Almost immediately he spotted a male, brown-furred otter, probably in his thirties, stuffing a small cardboard package into his jacket. Fox saw a glimpse of what was unmistakably a blaster before reaching for his own.

"Stop." Wolf nudged him forward, his voice hardly audible. "Just keep walking." Fox's hand hovered over the holster in his pants before deciding it was best to not attract attention to himself. Still, he kept his eyes on the otter, who looked back before walking.

Fox approached a crosswalk and waited, fidgeting his feet. The otter was getting further away and was headed downtown; at any moment, he could be lost in the crowds of Helm City. The farther he walked, the duller of a green Fox's necklace got. It was most likely him, or at least someone walking away, otherwise his light wouldn't change color.

The stoplight turned green, and Fox immediately walked across, craning his neck to see the otter many meters in front of him. He noticed the otter's walking get more quick and deliberate.

"He's gonna break soon," Wolf muttered. Their suspect took a left on the next intersection, but as they turned the corner a few seconds later, Fox couldn't find him in the crowd. _Damn it. _Fox's chip was losing color faster, yet all he could see were normal pedestrians as far—

Fox saw the otter sprinting, much farther ahead on the other side of the street. "Take a cab and follow me," he said to Wolf before immediately taking off. Fox darted across the street onto the sidewalk. He was bumping into pedestrians and getting annoyed glares, but he couldn't lose sight of the otter who was now much closer. Fox was definitely gaining on him, and it wouldn't be long until he caught up.

The otter took a sharp right turn into an alleyway, Fox right behind him. He could hear the otter's panicked breathing as he scampered over a fence, getting his coat stuck on the top for a split second. Fox jumped and almost grabbed it, but the otter was off just in time, yelling curses as he ran. He rolled off the fence and sprinted out of the alleyway on a more empty, beach road. The otter got farther than Fox hoped, but he quickly chased in pursuit.

The distance between them was closing. 15 meters. 10 meters. Fox could hear the sound of the man's footsteps and strained breathing. 5 meters. The man screamed as Fox tackled him, pushing him against the brick wall of a building.

"Hey," Fox said, speaking right in his ear and feeling the man writhe under his arms. "What's in that package?"

The man spoke between his frenzied breaths in an almost incomprehensible accent. "Bump da' hell off, kitshit!"

Kitshit? That was a new one. Fox pushed the otter's face harder into the brick. "You don't have a choice. What's in the box?"

The man bit his arm, and in the brief moment Fox's body twitched in pain, he felt an elbow strike his stomach. Fox backed off and blocked a kick to the face with his forearm, throwing the man's momentum around. The otter stumbled back and stared Fox down before reaching for his blaster, but Fox retaliated and pointed his at the same time the otter got his out.

"Put the gun down!"

It was a bellowing voice, probably a guard's. Fox felt his muscles relax—

"I said _put __the __fucking __gun __down__!_"

Fox felt a blunt strike to his head, and his face hit concrete. For a second he thought he'd been knocked out, but the color rushed back to his vision. He shuddered in pain before scrambling on his hands, pushing himself up and looking at the faces of four uniformed guards, all with blasters pointed to his chest. _Where __the __hell __did __they __c__o__me __from__?_

"Put it down!"

Fox dropped his blaster, which fell to the ground with a crack. Why aren't they attacking the criminal?

"Hands up!"

Fox reluctantly obliged. Even if by some stroke of luck he took all the guards out, he'd then be a criminal in the eyes of Zonessian police. A guard lowered his gun and walked to Fox, pushing him to his knees and handcuffing him. This felt wrong. It had to be a misunderstanding. He looked at the otter, whose body was shaking but whose face looked filled with accomplishment. On second thought, he might have just been chasing the wrong guy.

"Sorry, what's going on here?" Fox asked, trying to be as light-hearted as possible. "Who are you?"

"Shut it!" The guard handcuffing him pushed him back down to the ground. A foot smothered his face, pushing him into the concrete and scratching his ear. "How z'it feel now, ergh?" the otter said. "Asswipe." Fox heard him spit, and a split second later felt the moisture on the side of his neck. Damn it . . .

"What the hell is going on?" Fox yelled. Someone kicked him in the side, and Fox cringed and rolled over.

"You aren't in the position to be asking questions." Fox couldn't tell who said it, but it accompanied another kick to the ribs. Fox opened his mouth to retaliate, but calmed himself down. These people obviously weren't police, and he couldn't take more blows with his hands cuffed.

Fox heard the sound of tires on gravel before he saw a taxi approach. He heard the guards step away from him, and he tried to stare into the passenger seat, praying Wolf would see him and turn around. Screeching to a halt, the taxi's door opened, and Wolf stood from the car with his hands already in the air.

Wolf shot him the quickest _w__hat__-__the__-__hell__-__happened _glance before looking at one of the guards. As the cab turned and sped off, Wolf sighed. "Sorry, must be walking in on something," he said with a sheepish grin. "Just take—"

"Quit playing dumb," a guard said, pushing Wolf to the ground. "We know who you are, O'Donnell, we ain't dipshits."

Fox looked at Wolf again, but the lupine wasn't acknowledging him, instead staring at one of the guards. The guard closest to him grabbed Fox by his shirt collar and yanked; the collar dug into his neck, choking him. Fox inhaled too much and sputtered.

"Let's take 'em, I'm getting tired of this."

"Whatever." The voice was one he hadn't heard yet. Fox was pulled up again, and just as he was about to stand, a cloth was shoved into his face. He inhaled, and the distinct sweet smell—_shit. Chloroform._ He tried holding his breath, but buildings were already starting to distort in the distance. He knelt back down, shaking, and looked back over at Wolf, who was being forced against the ground with the cloth.

He didn't have time to think or say anything before his vision was enveloped in darkness.


	6. Electricityscape

Again, sorry for the long lack of updates. In the time it's taken me to write six chapters of this story, The Strokes released two albums. I've been pushing this off for a long time, but I'm seriously going to attempt to finish this very soon, so please stick around.

* * *

_**Electricityscape  
**__So __please __don__'__t __tempt __me __in __the __wrong __way_

Darkness. Fox wasn't sure if he was conscious. At some point, he recognized he was lying on his side, but it seemed to take minutes for his mind to send the message to his arm to move. Eventually, he curled his fingers, then pushed himself onto his elbows and knees before opening his eyes. He saw sweat beads dripping from his eyelids before he noticed how humid it was.

Pushing himself to his knees, Fox analyzed his surroundings. A dim light bulb hung from the ceiling and shined on a heap of cardboard boxes, but he couldn't tell how large the room was because the light tapered off. Other than a metal door with a tinted window, the rest of the walls looked pasty brown and unfinished.

His stomach growled — he tried to swallow his saliva, but his mouth was dry as sandpaper, and tasted metallic. _How long have I been here?_ Fox turned and saw Wolf collapsed in a pile of cardboard boxes. Blurry visions ran through his mind of Fox chasing someone . . . and a taxi, or something . . . but he failed to make sense of it. They were being held captive, that much was for certain, and — patted down his jeans, looking for his blaster, but of course they took it.

He crawled over to Wolf and gave a weak shake to his shoulder. "Wolf," he mumbled, collapsing on the lupine's body. _Gods_, was he tired. "Wolf, wake up."

Fox felt Wolf's body rumble, and soon Wolf groaned, rolling out from under Fox. Wolf looked at Fox with furrowed eyebrows and mouth slightly open for a while, until the recollection hit him, and he turned to the ceiling and exhaled. "Shit . . . "

Silence for a few minutes - Fox got the feeling that neither of them knew what to say. His recollection crept back to him. He remembered the nanotech and Aparoid discussion from . . . yesterday? How long ago was it? The chloroform should have only knocked him out for a few minutes - he should remember something from the trip here, despite being extremely groggy. "Have any idea what happened?" Fox asked.

"They sedated us when we got in a car," Wolf said. "And now we're here." That answered that question. "How did you get captured, anyway?" he asked.

Fox pondered. "I tackled the guy we were chasing," he said. "Then I thought police came, or something, so I let my guard down, and . . . I don't really remember the rest."

"We're probably in that abandonded A-Tac warehouse," Wolf said, propping himself into a sitting position. He started to survey the room, but his ears flicked, and he pulled his comm out of his pocket. "These kidnappers didn't think shit through," he said, forcing a laugh, but a few seconds later his smile was wiped off of his face.

Fox checked his own comm to see why. Expecting to see that he had no connection or that the clock was reset, he frowned when he saw a blue screen with indecipherable text. "The hell?" he said, opening the back of the comm to expect it. Everything was there. This screen wasn't a diagnostic tool or anything . . .

Whatever was wrong with his phone, it all amounted to the same thing - they were stranded. Kidnapped. Fox stood up, forgetting about the pain in his limbs, and managed to stagger over to the door. How hilarious would it be if it simply opened? Of course, as he tugged on the doorknob, it didn't happen, and he fell back to the ground again.

What were those techniques to keep calm in situations like this? He remembered his flight academy days; he looked down and counted the stitching on his shorts. Something to keep his mind off the fact that he wasn't at home, that the empty boxes and flickering lightbulbs weren't just the messy floor of his bedroom or lights he'd gotten too lazy to replace, but were rather the confines of some strange cell.

Fox hadn't been held captive before. Sure, most people hadn't, but it still wasn't something he could prepare for, mentally nor physically. Fox looked around the room again, but he only saw the stack of dusty, cardboard boxes, and Wolf. There was a flap under the door, most probably for food, but it wasn't something he could crawl out of. He couldn't make out the rest of the walls, but it was probably a safe assumption that this cell didn't have random doors he could conveniently exit from.

"Fox," Wolf said, looking at him. "You're shaking. A lot."

"It was probably the sedatives," Fox said, trying to play it off his leg's restless tapping. "My leg's just now waking up." Wolf clearly didn't buy into Fox's strained smile. "But yeah, I'm nervous," he continued. "Never really looked forward to the whole dying-when-you're-twenty-four gig."

'We're not going to die," Wolf said. "Calm down."

Fox ignored this. "Two bodies found in empty Zonessian warehouse? I thought we agreed it was a cover-up, and I thought we agreed that we both probably know too much."

"They don't know we know anything. They only know we're Wolf O'Donnell and Fox McCloud. If that. Calm down." Wolf hadn't broken his stare at Fox yet. "It's not that bad, honestly-"

"Unlike you," Fox started, "I don't have the best experiences with being kidnapped."

"You've been kidnapped before?"

"_I_ haven't." It took Wolf a few seconds to realize what Fox meant, and any expression on the lupine's face faded away. Fox's fur was starting to bristle, and his body was heating up.

"Sorry," Wolf muttered, and he exhaled. "They won't want to kill us. They couldn't possibly cover that up. Most likely, we're a bargaining tool, in which case they won't touch us at all. And at worst, they'll torture us-" Fox must have flinched at this, because Wolf's expression changed, "-which makes no sense for them to do, anyway. Besides, like hell they'll do anything. I'm Wolf O'Donnell, and you're Fox McCloud."

"We aren't invincible," Fox muttered. Something hostile was building up in him.

Wolf looked exasperated. "Besides, we can just escape earlier. This warehouse is in a public place and isn't going to be constructed to be a dungeon. They're going to try to talk to us, or give us food, or something, and we overpower them and escape. Simple."

"Explain why my father's dead, then." Fox regretted the words as soon as he said them. The question had been lingering, sure, but he wasn't sure at all about Wolf's level of involvement with his father's capturing, or even if Star Wolf had formed during that time. Wolf sighed as if he expected the response, but Fox still felt a pang of guilt.

"I don't know," Wolf managed. The words sounded painful to say. "And I'm sorry."

"No, I should apologize. I'm not accusing you, I'm just . . ." Fox struggled to find the right word. "Frustrated, obviously, being kidnapped and all."

Wolf chuckled. "It's fine," he said, smiling. Any other day, Fox would be shocked at Wolf's level of sympathy. But his genuine smile only made him feel comfortable. "Besides, I've been through much worse and made it out fine. Like hell we're going through two wars and dying here, of all places." Wolf waved his limbs around. "And we aren't even handcuffed or constrained in any way. This kidnapping job is so amateur that I'm embarrassed they got us in the first place."

Fox nodded and leaned his head against the wall again. A few moments passed in silence before Fox remembered how exhausted and sore he was. Figuring there wasn't much else to do in a locked room, he closed his eyes and attempted to sleep.

* * *

Banging against the wall interrupted Fox's sleep. He hardly had time to look up before five rough looking canines with blasters slammed the door open and stormed into the room. For a second Fox forgot he wasn't locked to anything before he sprang up in a fighting stance, poised against his guards.

"If you were intelligent," one of them began, "you wouldn't move an inch." Three pistols were pointed at Fox's face, two at Wolf's. Fox felt an urge to call their bluff - they wouldn't risk killing them, and they were probably two of the best trained men in combat in the System. They could easily disarm them and make their way for the open door to exit.

But the guards stood with rigid posture, not moving their guns an inch. Fox didn't want to risk anything and die here - at least, he'd rather follow Wolf's lead on this.

One of the guards pulled two bottles from behind his back and threw them on the ground in front of Fox. "Drink that," he said, staring Fox down.

"And that is?" Despite holding no power in this situation, Wolf's voice was as snarky as ever.

The canine in the middle, presumably the one in charge, spoke with more authority. "That is water, O'Donnell. You two have been in here too long and ought to be dehydrated. Water will freshen you up, no?"

Something about his voice pissed Fox off, but he didn't seem to have much of a choice. He reached for the bottle on the floor, but Wolf's foot nudged Fox's hand, and he backed off. Two of the guards pivoted quickly turning to Wolf, and now four of the guards had their guns pointed at the lupine.

Wolf raised his hands in retaliation. "How gracious of you, honestly," he said with a fake smile. "No handcuffs, and now free water? I didn't-"

The canine charged Wolf with his elbow, catching him off guard, and slammed him into the wall. He pinned Wolf there, clutching the top tuft of fur on Wolf's head. "I didn't handcuff you because I wanted to do it personally, while you were conscious." Saliva shot onto Wolf's face as the canine talked, but Wolf seemed unfazed. "And I wanted to prove that the great Lord O'Donnell was nothing more than a talkative little bitch."

As Wolf opened his mouth for a retort, the canine shoved the water bottle into Wolf's mouth and squeezed it. Wolf's body erupted in a violent fit and he struggled to cough the water out of his lungs. It frightened Fox, but he quickly remembered it probably startled the guards too - the only one with a weapon pointed at Fox dropped it to watch for a second, and Fox used the opportunity to snatch the gun from his hand and elbow him to the ground.

The other guards turned, but Fox, with blaster now in hand, retaliated first and shot at the guards' legs. One clutched his leg and fell over close to Fox, and Fox dove for his weapon, using the injured canine's body to block oncoming shots from the two other guards. Predictably, the guards missed Fox and shot their ally, and he howled in pain.

"What are you doing!" the canine pinning Wolf yelled, and Wolf used the opportunity to knee him in the crotch and throw him to the ground. The other two guards were firing wildly at Fox, but they were so panicked that Fox felt comfortable enough charging them head on, punching one in the face, then quickly rebounding to dive the other to the ground.

"Get one of them!" someone shrieked. One of the guards managed to get their blaster back and start firing again, but Fox sprang off of the floor and bolted towards the open door. He darted out of the cell, feeling the heat of a blaster shot narrowly graze his face. Wolf stumbled out and he slammed the door behind him. The shouting of their guards was hardly muffled, and Fox, panicking, started to run down the hallway until noticing that Wolf was curled onto the floor, clutching his stomach and coughing violently.

Fox walked back over and grabbed Wolf's arm, hoisting him up from the ground and supporting his weight. "Sorry, we have to keep moving," Fox said. Wolf was still wheezing, spitting up water. Despite having no idea where he was, Fox made the decision to start moving. "We'll keep on the right wall; we're bound to find some exit that way."

At this slower pace, Fox had time to assess his surroundings. He checked the weapons he took from his guards. They were unmarked, but their size and caliber probably indicated they were stun blasters. At least the guards weren't planning on killing them.

Fox looked back up. The hallway was constructed of moist cobblestone on the floor and walls, but it was too dark to tell how high the ceiling was, as the torch lights on the walls were dim. Moss and vegetation crept out of the cracks between the stones on the walls. This seemed more like a dungeon than a warehouse, and wherever they were, they were probably underground.

The two rounded a corner, seeing yet another long hallway with more corridors branching out. Fox frowned. Keeping to the right wall, a tactic he learned in search and rescue training back in flight academy, would guarantee that they wouldn't miss an exit, but it would probably take longer to escape. They didn't have time to be sauntering around this place while guards looked for them. Stairs or an elevator were still safer bets, but he didn't find any down this hall.

They kept moving. Wolf's breathing stabilized a little, but he still let out occasional coughs. "You okay?" Fox asked, wincing at how loud his voice was in the hall.

"Hell no," Wolf managed to mutter. "Deepthroating a water bottle's no fun."

Fox couldn't help but laugh - at least it was good to see that his sense of humor was back. "What was that, anyway?" Fox whispered.

"Probably just water. It tasted like water. Most kidnappers want their hostages to look nice and well-treated for their first ransom pictures." Wolf pushed himself off of Fox's shoulder and began walking on his own, closely behind the vulpine. "But, it could have something in it if they planned on interrogating us. Some sort of truth serum, sodium amytal - euphemistic term for poisonous sedative. Something to make me loopy would force the answers out easier."

They walked around another corner, this one without any visible hallways or doors leading out of it. "Whatever answers we have," Fox said. "I have no clue what's going on here."

"Neither do I. I doubt they thought any of this though, because no matter how this ends for us, it's bound to be awful for A-Tac. Either we die and they're murderers of Lylat's heroes, or we escape and they're kidnappers of Lylat's heroes-"

"Or we could both be wrong about the Aparoid thing, and they could be random murders that want us dead." Fox forced himself to laugh, but his mind was still flooded with a sea of "what-if"s. Fox risked his life nearly every day, and _damn __it_ he wasn't going to die here, but something could go entirely wrong. He could picture the headlines -_ Like Father, Like Son: the McCloud legacy ends in despair_. Fox McCloud killed in hostage crisis. Rather ironic that-

A blue beam of heat energy whizzed past Fox's ear, hitting the ground near two canine's feet some meters in front of him. A second one hit one of their legs, and the dog yelped. Fox's hands locked up for a split second before he reached the blaster holstered on his belt. He ducked, narrowly avoided a shot to his shoulder, and retaliated by firing thrice at one of the canines.

All three made contact - probably overkill on the stun. The canine dropped to the ground with a thud, and Fox looked up to see the other reaching for a transceiver. Wolf leapt at him with an arm out for his radio, and they both fell to the ground, tumbling over. Fox stood up and shot at the canine's chest, and his head hit the cobblestone floor.

As the echoes of the fight dissipated from the air, Fox had time to notice what happened. Wolf propped himself up, clutching his shoulder. "Shit," he muttered through his teeth. "Didn't land right."

"I noticed," Fox said, looking through the other canine's belt to take his transceiver. "And you missed your first shot. You seem out of it."

"You didn't even notice them."

Fair enough, but Fox was still concerned that Wolf had been poisoned with something, and if his motor skills were deteriorating, it didn't look good for their prospects of escaping. "We have to be in the A-Tac building," Fox said, putting his radio in his pocket.

"Yeah. These guys," Wolf said this as he kicked one of the dog's in the side, "had terrible reactions. They were either old warehouse employees who weren't trained in combat, or cheap mercenaries the company hired to stay under the radar."

"So, seeing as it's a multi-billion credit company that has us hostage, they wouldn't be getting much extra with ransom money. You were probably poisoned."

"Maybe." If Wolf was concerned, he didn't show it. "Stand guard for a bit, we're taking their uniforms."

The message didn't process all the way, and Fox was about to question why, but he eventually understood. Any time they could buy confusing their captors was better than nothing. Wolf took off his shirt, revealing a rather impressive body. If Fox wasn't concerned about escaping this warehouse and saving his life, he would have called it attractive.

Fox burst into laughter unexpectedly. Again with those thoughts. It was only because of how silly the thought of him finding Wolf attractive (and Wolf reciprocating those feelings) was he able to laugh. In all seriousness, the thought of himself, mere days after breaking up with Krystal and ending Corneria's trophy couple, and turning after another male, let alone Wolf O'Donnell, was hilarious. How could he continue _the __McCloud __legacy_ if he was attracted to another guy?

"What are you laughing about?" Wolf asked. "I'm done, it's your turn."

The idea was _almost_ amusing, Fox thought as he took the frozen canine's guard coat and pants, but he probably thought about it too much, because now something perturbed him. Maybe he was overthinking everything, and Falco was right. Maybe Fox did need to get laid. He just never imagined that his impatient hormones would resort to checking out other another guy's muscles.

He finished putting on the pants and immediately noticed how tight the clothes felt. He turned around to Wolf, who didn't look comfortable either. At least from the back, they may have been able to pass for guards, but so far everyone they encountered looked like dark-furred locals. "Let's keep moving," Fox said, heading back to the right wall. "We need to find out what the hell's going on."

"I thought we needed to escape." That was true, but they were still contracted on a mission. And even if they weren't, Aerial Tactical and Space Dynamics were both up to something devious that he couldn't leave unchecked without a good conscious.

Another right turn. Only a few steps ahead, a wooden door stood at the end of the hallway. Fox pressed his ear against the damp wood and heard nothing. Hand on his blaster, he twisted the doorknob, and it opened with a creak. Of course, anticlimactically, it was only a storage closet holding more boxes, brooms, and useless materials.

Fox turned shrugged, but Wolf reached for the transceiver on his belt. "Let's stay here for a bit," he said, waving the radio. "We have these."

The room didn't have a light in it, and Fox wasn't too keen on getting caught in a dead-end. However, when he looked back to the room, he saw a slit on the ceiling. He opened it, freeing what seemed like years worth of dust and revealing orange tinted light in the new room. Without a word, Fox jumped and hoisted his arms on the ledge, eventually pulling himself into the attic. "C'mon, up here," Fox said, reaching an arm down.

Wolf scoffed. "I'm stronger than you, pup." The lupine jumped up as well without Fox's help, and Fox turned back around to the rest of the room. The attic was rather empty save a few small lockboxes, and the orange light came from two windows towards the bottom of the wall, one on either side of the room. Fox crawled over to one and peered through.

He didn't know what laboratories looked like, but this certainly wasn't what he expected. Pristine white and unidentifiable equipment jutted out of the walls and littered the floor. Figures scampered around, peering into glass jars placed on a long table Large, triangular signs near the top of the wall illuminated orange with the caption on the bottom reading, "CAUTION: BIOHAZARD."

"Wolf," Fox said, turning around, "did you find the . . ." The lupine was laying on the ground, staring upwards. "Err, are you okay?"

Wolf's eyes glanced over at him. "I'm fine."

"Did you find any radio channels?"

"Channel sixteen."

Fox grabbed his own transceiver and twisted the dial to 16, but the words that came were an undecipherable mess.

"Contaminant B approaching," a rough voice stated. "Line B6, prepare SCN. Enable symporter. Chain opening. Prepare steroid. Contaminant approaching main line. Inject steroid. Erase line, A2 to B6, prepare B7 . . ."

The communication was coming from this room. Fox peered down to find a man's actions who matched the rhythm of the speaking. As each jar - the contaminant - passed through the abstract assembly line, he sprayed something in it - the steroid - and pushed it down the chain. Fox couldn't tell where the production stopped and ended, or what even was happening. Eventually, his eyes found a man picking up and opening each jar. Fox caught a glimpse of a violet-glue shard of glass, and then the man took a syringe and injected it with something orange -

The shard moved. It lost its structure, formed a clump, and multiplied, spreading onto the man's arm. After a brief second, the clump of violet particles fell abruptly to the floor, and the man swept them into a dustpan. The movement seemed so abrupt and chaotic for it to be intentional, but none of the workers seemed phased by what just happened.

"Wolf," Fox began, turning around, "these have to be Aparoids. I don't know how, but somehow - "

The click of a lockbox interrupted Fox. "How did you get that open?" Fox asked.

"Are you really surprised that one of Lylat's most wanted criminals knows how to pick locks?"

Fox shrugged. Wolf's being a criminal still wasn't an idea that Fox completely grasped. "What are these?" Wolf asked, picking up syringes filled with some orange substance from the lockbox.

"It's some sort of steroid that either disables or enables the Aparoid nanobots." When Wolf raised an eyebrow, Fox continued. "I couldn't tell. One of the scientists sprayed a clump with the steroid, and they shot up erratically for a second before falling to the floor."

The older canine pocketed one of the syringes and handed the other to Fox. "Then it's safe to say we should keep onto these," he said.

Fox nodded, and peered back into the window. He couldn't discern much more information from what was happening in the laboratory, and aside from getting some syringes, they hadn't accomplished much. "How are we going to get out of here?" he muttered.

"Not sure." Wolf's voice seemed unfazed. "But I doubt anybody's coming to save us, so we need to keep moving." Wolf made his way to the attic door from where they came and hopped down to the room below them, and Fox followed suit. His eyes took a second to adjust to the significantly dimmer light in the rest of this (warehouse? dungeon?) but he eventually regained footing.

No sooner could Fox say anything about which direction to go did he feel the searing heat of blaster shots graze by him. Footsteps stomped ahead and yelling echoed the halls - there had to be at least six people approaching, and they couldn't fight them off. "Right!" Fox yelled, leading Wolf and sprinting off.

More blaster shots hit the wall they just left. Their pursuers were just a few seconds behind them, and even though Fox and Wolf were likely faster, Fox figured there wasn't going to be a pretty end to this chase. And their pursuers at least knew the layout of this place. If we get caught running in circles or in a dead end -

A hollow thud rang behind him. He turned to see Wolf, sprawled on the ground and stumbling to get back up. Fox yanked on Wolf's arm with much more force than he intended and took off sprinting again. Around the next corner was an open door, and after sprinting through it, Fox slammed it shut.

Wolf shot him an angry glare, presumably at the noise of slamming the door. Fox shot him a glare back, wondering how in the hell, "one of Lylat's most wanted criminals," almost died because he tripped.

Regardless, they had to get out of this room quickly. Fox saw a chute near the wall, and even though the last thing he wanted to do was head even further underground, they really had no option. Fox nudged Wolf over and managed to squeeze himself into the chute.

He plunged down into darkness. The dust forced him to close his eyes and hold his breath, and the friction of the metal chute seared against his clothes and arms. For a split second, nothing surrounded him, and then he hit the ground with a thud. He opened his eyes to a room full of cabinets and paper files, with a brighter light in the corner and thank Gods - a telephone.

Wolf came barreling down the chute seconds and hit the ground with a groan and coughs. His fur seemed paler, and he looked like a pitiful lump of fur. "Is truth serum supposed to act like this?" Fox asked.

Wolf managed to nod. "It weakens your body, and your mental capabilities follow suit. It inhibits your ability to resist questioning." Wolf propped his body up to sit and leaned his back against a cabinet. "There's a landline," Wolf said, nudging his head towards the wall.

In his concern, Fox nearly forgot about the phone, and as he picked it up, nearly forgot how landlines operated. He hadn't used a phone that wasn't a modern comm in so long, but he managed to dial The Telecaster's number. Ring ring. Fox wondered if The Telecaster even had the technology to pick up a primitive land signal. Ring ring. If not, he'd have to call someone's cell, if he remembered the - click. "Hello?" Falco's voice. "You're reaching Space Dynamic's-"

"Falco, it's me, Fox," he said. "Can you get Slip, or Adrian? Get a trace on this call?"

"Fox, what's going on? Where've you been? You okay?"

"I think I'm in a deserted Aerial-Tactical building in Encinitas, I'm fine, get Slip or Adrian."

A few seconds of quiet passed, in which Fox heard distant yelling on the other side of the phone. "They're coming. Seriously, what happened? Did Wolf hurt you?"

"What? No, he's . . ." Fox shot a glance to the older canine, former rival (now what?) who was sitting against the wall, eyes vacant, "he's not in a state to hurt anyone. He's poisoned. We got kidnapped, and we're trying to escape. I'm pretty sure we're in this warehouse in Encinitas, I just want a trace to be sure. Send police or something." Fox paused. "How long has it been?"

"What do you mean?"

"What time is it now?"

"About 2:30 P.M."

_We've been here almost a full day_? "We got taken yesterday afternoon. What did you think happened to me?"

"Dunno. Krystal, Slip and I came back to the ship in the evening, and you and Wolf disappeared and didn't answer our calls. We all thought Wolf had taken you somewhere. I may have punched a certain slimy chameleon in the face," Falco said, chuckling. "But-"

"Fox, fox?" Slippy's voice. "You there? You're at 27 Madera Drive, Encinitas. It's labelled Aerial Tactical Development Warehouse-"

"Got it," Fox said. "Send police. And an ambulance. See you soon."

"Yup," Slippy and Falco said in unison, and Fox hung up the phone. At least his team knew where he was now. All he would have to do is wait it out here for a bit, and - assuming no one found them - the regional police would be waves more powerful.

"An ambulance?" Wolf muttered. "Aren't you overreacting, Fox?"

"Prefer I leave you here?." Fox meant for that to come out as an insult, but the concern in his voice overwhelmed even himself. He honestly wasn't sure how much Wolf's body could hold out - he seemed too exhausted to even stand up. But Wolf's eyes were focused on something above Fox's head, and Fox stood and turned to see an electronic bulletin on the wall.

"CONTAINMENT LEVELS," the top read in green text. The beginning of the list was dated about two weeks ago, January 17th. It made sense for the building to be tracking its Aparoid nanobots, and the list was self-explanatory enough. 99.93%, 99.95%, 99.91% . . .

Until about 5 days ago. January 27th. 86.23%, in red text, and for the next five days the number stayed constant.

He felt cold chills race down his spine, as his body seemed to piece it together faster than his mind did. He dialed Ricky's number, waiting for him to pick up. He couldn't possibly be busy enough with other things to ignore Fox McCloud, but it took until the last ring for him to respond.

"Yello?" Ricky put on his fake, annoying accent. "Ah, McCloud, what's-"

"What the fuck is going on?" Fox nearly yelled.

There was silence for a few seconds, a forced laugh, then, "What are you talking about?"

"You know damn well what I'm talking about, Rick. Harboring the creatures that killed millions of Lylatians just a month ago? Corneria would have no qualms with having you executed."

Silence for a few more seconds. "How much do you know about this?" His voice was deeper and raspier.

"I know that you had us protect an Aparoid shipment back at Katina. I know you're attempting to use Aparoid technology to make marketable nanocomputers that you can sell. I know that you probably don't have an effective means of controlling the creatures. And I know that somewhere, there's a large supply of Aparoids that have gone missing."

Wolf's eyes raised at this last part, and Fox nodded. The voice on the other end of the phone sounded nervous. "Falco tells me you and Wolf got kidnapped by A-Tac?"

_Damn __it__. __Why __did __they __let __him __know __so __quickly__?_

"Did you tell them any of this?" Ricky asked.

"No. I only found out the last part here."

"Did you tell your team?"

"No."

"Good. Please don't."

It took all of Fox's strength to not scream in the telephone. "What in the hell makes you think I won't?"

"I have huge connections in Space Dynamics and the Cornerian military-"

"And I don't?"

"You didn't let me finish. I can make your debts disappear. The money owed on the _Great __Fox_ can mean nothing. But this can't spiral out of control Fox, and it's all counting on you."

Fox felt his fur flare up and stand on end. "You," He muttered, clenching his teeth, "are not bribing me."

"I think I am. Please Fox, be reasonable. We can discuss this later, but you can not tell your team for now, okay?"

Fox didn't have time to respond before Ricky hung up the call with a cold ring. Startled, he stared at the receiver for a few seconds before looking back down at Wolf. "He told you not to tell anyone about this?" Wolf asked.

Fox nodded, and added, "I think I won't."

Wolf furrowed his eyebrows. "The hell?"

"I don't want to involve anyone else in this and put them in danger-"

"Then why'd you argue with Ricky for so long?"

"Because Ricky's a scumbag," Fox spat. "And I want him to be nervous. He knows when his plan falls apart, he's going to rot the rest of his life away in a jail cell. But I'll manage this by myself-"

"No, you won't," Wolf said. His tone changed dramatically, almost like an angry parent scolding him.

"You told me yesterday not to tell the team about this. Why are you harping on me now?"

"Yesterday we were speculating, and if Ricky knew the entire team was suspicious of him, he'd shut down the operation quick and none of us know anything. But now we know exactly what's happening, and we all have evidence to get Ricky arrested and A-Tac shut down, but you want to shoulder all of the responsibility?" Fox didn't respond, and Wolf continued. "You do this a lot, don't you? You're stressed as hell because everyone expects so much of you, but you take sole responsibility for every problem as if everything's your fault."

Fox's ears were getting hot. "We can argue about this later," he said, and he wasn't sure if he was uncomfortable because of Wolf's condescending tone, or because Wolf nailed it spot on. Regardless, he was still stuck in a cramped room, held captive by Zonessian criminals who'd probably like them dead. Standing up, he reached for the blaster on his belt and prepared to go through the door. "Anyway, we need to stall for probably fifteen minutes for the police to come. I'd rather they not find us stuck in this closet."

Wolf nodded, then smirked a little. Fox's confused glance seemed to make Wolf bellow out in even more laughter, and Fox was about to warn him about being so damn loud until Wolf's bellows turned into coughs and exasperated breaths. "Fox," Wolf managed to get out, "you might have to leave me here."

Fox's ears flicked. "What? I'm not doing that."

He looked down at the lupine, who looked up and shrugged his shoulders with a fake smile. "I doubt I can get up, and at this rate I'll be practically unconscious sometime soon. It's better that you escape and come back later for me, rather than we both get caught again."

The sincerity in Wolf's voice was almost painful. "Gods damn it you are not doing this," Fox said. "Apparently you don't know me very well, because I don't leave my friends behind."

"Friend, huh?" A true smile appeared on Wolf's muzzle. "Well, this friend can't stand up."

Fox knelt down and, without thinking, put his arms around Wolf's body to try and hoist him up. Wolf was substantially heavier than him - with the lupine's muscles, he imagined this would be much easier if the roles were reversed - and he had to prop the man on his knee before he could manage to get an arm under his back.

"What-"

"Are you conscious enough to fire a blaster?" Fox said, taking his other arm and wrapping it under Wolf's legs.

"Yeah."

"Grab mine," Fox said. "And here - wrap an arm around my neck."

Wolf blinked, and then a weak laugh came out. "Romantic, Fox."

Fox scoffed. "Don't make this awkward."

"It's only awkward if you see something in it."

Fox pushed himself into a standing position. He wasn't accustomed to carrying people more heavy and muscular than him, and he didn't choose the position that would have been easiest for him, but it was the only one he could think of that would let him run and shoot. Fox managed to maneuver his body to get a hand to twist the doorknob and get out of the storage room.

Aside from the rhythmic blares of the alarm, the hallway was oddly quiet. Fox picked a direction and started running. They had to manage another ten minutes by the time police would arrive? Fox could have waited it out in that room, but if the company realized he knew they were smuggling Aparoids, then a dead Fox McCloud and Wolf O'Donnell might be easier to deal with. It wasn't a possibility he wanted to risk.

As he ran past hallways, he saw something metallic shine in the corner of his eye. Quickly turning his head, he saw grace at the end of the hallway: elevator doors. Fox, excitedly, ran to them. If he could manage to stay inside-

"Behind you," Wolf said, and three blaster shots whizzed past their bodies. Fox heard the whirring of Wolf's own blaster as he took shots behind. The elevator neared them, but as Fox tried to stop, Wolf's weight added onto his own momentum didn't allow him to. Instinctively, he turned his back to the doors before he slammed into them. Pain shot through his spine and sent shivers through the rest of his body. Wolf readjusted to keep firing at the three guards in front of them as Fox frantically pushed the elevator button.

More heat shot past their bodies and hit the doors with sharp clangs. Thank goodness they're terrible shots. _Ding__. _The doors opened, and Fox nearly tumbled backwards into the elevator as he tried to press the button for the fifth floor. He managed to tuck back in a hiding space leaned against the side door. One final shot zipped above their heads right before the elevator doors shut.

Fox sighed. Apparently they had been at the third basement level. Wolf hadn't said anything yet, but Fox figured he'd explain. "Fifth floor gives us more time to calm down. They won't be expecting us up there, and we can go down to the ground floor later."

"Fox . . ." Wolf's voice sounded weak and raspy, and his breathing was getting more strained. "Arm."

He looked all over Wolf's arm, expecting to find something. It took him a few seconds to realize he was talking about Fox's own right arm. Blood was oozing out; a blaster shot must have grazed the top of it. "I'm fine," Fox said. "You don't sound too good yourself."

"Water," Wolf managed to say, then, "I, ah . . . sorry."

_Ding__._ The elevator doors opened to the fifth floor, and it took him a second to notice the lifeless, "INTRUDER ALERT," alarm had switched to saying, "QUARANTINE. QUARANTINE. QUARANTINE." Still, no one was there to apprehend them.

Fox clicked the button for the ground floor, and the doors closed. All of Wolf's efforts seemed to be focused on his breathing, which was getting frighteningly heavy. Were the effects of truth serums supposed to be this drastic? Wolf never seemed surprised at his body's reactions at any point, so Fox wanted to ask him, but he was practically unconscious at this point.

_Get __outside__, __because __Wolf __might __die __in __your __arms__._

_Ding__._ First floor. Fox winced his eyes - natural, blue, Zonessian light was pouring out from the windows. He wanted to feel relieved, but the taunting tastes of the outside world only made Fox more on edge. He sprinted off down the hall, trying to find some exit.

Searching for a road outside which would signal the front of the building, his brain almost blocked out the fact that there was orange goo all over the walls, windows, and floor. It took Fox a few seconds to realize that it was the same orange substance that was slathered across buckets in the laboratory. It was some steroid that turned off the action of the nanoparticles. It didn't click to him what that could possibly be doing all over the halls until he ran through this next hallway.

An eerie, high-pitched whine hit his ears first. The sensation sent shivers down his spine, yet it was so faint and unworldly that Fox wasn't sure if it was imaginary or real. When he turned, he wouldn't have noticed anything amiss had the light not shone a few steps in front of it. They almost looked like dust particles, dark and insignificant, but unlike the real dust in front of them, they moved forward in a way so sinister and jerky, almost as if they were stabbing and forcing themselves through the air, that Fox's legs locked up for a brief second.

The mass of eerily synchronized nanoparticles clouded the area of the hall and jerked forward. When it passed through where the light shone, it gave off the unmistakable shimmer of cold violet colors. Weeks of violent, forgotten memories bombarded him, from the fiery bombings of Cornerian cities, to an assimilated General Pepper, _to __being __seconds __away __from __allowing __this __murderous __species to __destroy __the __entire __Lylat __system__._

And here he was, staring at Aparoid remnants now infused in nanotechnology. It took seconds until his brain clicked back on and told him the obvious. _Run__._

Each step felt more impossible. Wolf was still unconscious in his arms. His knees were going to give out on him at any point. The high-pitched whining - almost sounded like static - was getting closer, and closer, One step was wrong. He rolled on his ankle and nearly twisted it, then had to twist his body so his back hit the ground and he could support Wolf's weight with his chest.

With a thud, the two bodies hit the floor, Fox's first. The fall, and Wolf's weight, knocked all the air out of Fox's lungs. His muscles wanted to give up on him, but the cloud was approaching faster, and _he __didn__'__t __have __a __choice__, __he __was __going __to __get __out __of __this __warehouse__. _Screaming, he managed to pick up Wolf, but he stumbled back a few steps and pitifully fell on the ground again.

The sprinklers on the ceiling clicked on, and orange fluid shot out. Some of them sprayed orange mist, others sprinkled the fluid, and others erratically splattered goo all over the walls. The cloud of nanoparticles moved violently around itself for a brief second, then dropped to the floor. Fox almost wanted to laugh at how pathetic they looked. When he turned around, he saw the front doors of the warehouse down the hall.

He picked Wolf back up again, but Wolf's body almost seemed lifeless. His breathing had turned a complete 180 from labored to nearly nonexistent, and his arms dangled limp. The flashing police and ambulance sirens outside were too close. Fox made the final sprint outside, bursting through the double glass doors and feeling a cold wind of fresh air hit him.

Outside. He escaped.

A brief moment of joy arrived, seeing his team's proud smiles and the plethora of police cars in the background. As Fox exited, police sprinted past him and surged inside the building, possibly in the hundreds. The ambulance was a bit further back. "Someone, get him," Fox managed to spit out. "He's poisoned, and I don't know if he's dying."

Paramedics approached him and lifted Wolf's body out of his arms, taking him to the ambulance. An incredible amount of weight was just lifted off his arms, but Fox still felt that all his energy was devoted to standing up. He couldn't even completely process that the rest of The Telecaster team was standing there, seemingly waiting for him to say something.

Krystal walked forward, making eye contact with him, and smiling. It took most of Fox's strength to smile back, and when the vixen leaned in and hugged him, it took the rest of his strength to not fall over. The rest of his team went around him, hugging, patting, and congratulating him. He smiled, until he saw Ricky Von Spitze, in a suit and sunglasses, stand out of a police car and approach him.

"Ugh," Falco said, wiping a finger through the fur on Fox's head. "What's this orange crap?"

"I don't know." Fox wasn't sure if he lied because Ricky successfully bribed him, or if he himself decided not to tell his team, or if he just didn't have the energy to tell the truth. Either way, Ricky seemed to hear, and a smile formed on his muzzle. He mouthed Fox's name before walking away. After telling his team he'd be right back, Fox walked over to the police car that Ricky was standing by.

"What?" Fox said, not really caring for an answer.

"You look beat. Let me take it from here and tell them the story. Alright?" Ricky raised his sunglasses to look at him. Fox knew he should probably keep his own muzzle shut, because any more conversation would probably lead to Ricky getting punched in the face, and that drama wasn't something he could deal with now. Defeated, Fox nodded his head. "Great. I'm glad I counted on you," Ricky said. "I knew you could do it. After all, you're Fox McCloud."

Right. Nothing mattered after all. He got kidnapped, sure. He uncovered a devious, big business conspiracy that risked the life of every person in the Lylat System, and he almost died for it numerous times, had a blaster shot been a few centimeters to the left, had he tripped a step earlier, had he reacted a second later - it all meant death. One of the only people in the System who seemed to genuinely understand him nearly died in his arms. But his life was never really in danger. It didn't matter, and it would never matter, _because __he __was __Fox __McCloud_.

Fan-fucking-tastic.


	7. Juicebox

A/N: I've said this each time I've updated so it probably doesn't sound sincere, but I'm going to finish this story soon. If you've been reading, thank you for sticking with me for over three years. I'm really going to try to update more consistently, and I'm sorry for the long gaps in between. Life has been way too busy.

Also, this chapter is going to be the longest chapter of the story. The next two in comparison are much shorter. And if you still haven't, check out the songs that are the titles for each chapter.

* * *

_**Juicebox  
**__Old time grudges will die so slowly_

The quiet of this coffee shop was a refreshing change from the chaos of the past couple of days. After being rescued by the rest of The Telecaster team, Ricky announced their mission a success. As Ricky put it, the culprits stealing from Space Dynamics were their rival aerospace business, Aerial-Tactical, and not only were they hiring criminal mercenaries to do their dirty work, but they had the audacity to kidnap Fox McCloud and Wolf O'Donnell. They had just landed on Corneria, and not even five minutes later did Fox see the slew of headlines. Aerial-Tactical Scandal! A-Tac Breaking News for Multi-Billion Credit Company! Scandal of the Decade!

But Fox wasn't concerned with any of that. Rather, he was concerned with the unreleased story not leaked to the public. Ricky's development team in Space Dynamics and A-Tac were both smuggling Aparoids for their technology. The same organisms that brought the planetary system to its knees just a month ago could potentially be released in Space Dynamics' latest airships. Fox knew it couldn't possibly end well, and he needed to do _something_ to stop it.

But so far, that something was only reading news and scientific articles on his laptop concerning Space Dynamics, Aparoids, and nanotechnology. He'd been in this coffee shop for close to two hours, and while he learned more about the space industry's fascination with nanotechnology, he wasn't any closer to a plan to stop Ricky's disastrous practices.

Fox's comm buzzed in his pocket, and he set down the laptop to answer it. It was a text message from a blank number.** hey, what was that?**

Confused, Fox replied. **What are you talking about? And who is this?**

A few seconds later: **do you know a lot of Wolfs? I thought you had my number? you sent me a blank text.**

After refreshing his comm, Fox saw his contact list appear, and Wolf O'Donnell appeared as the sender of the two previous texts. **Sorry, my phone's been bugging out recently. You still in the hospital?**

Fox peered back at his laptop, perusing an article over Space Dynamics development. In one of the pictures were six young men in labcoats, Ricky Von Spitze being one of them, looking proud on the right of the group. Fox's comm buzzed again.** yeah. They want me to stay for a few more days, but I'm probably leaving soon. **

**You're better already? **The article, published 5 months ago by a leading Cornerian think tank, dealt with Space Dynamics' research into reducing operating costs for their ships.

**nah, still feel like shit. nearly overdosed on the amytal, but I'd honestly rather be home than in this creepy pseudo-prison.**

Fox smirked.** Aww, what's wrong? Big bad Wolfy afraid of hospitals?**

A new message didn't come for a while - Fox assumed that Wolf was struggling for a comeback. Fox didn't find much particularly interesting in this article, but there was a spark of discussion about five months ago, from various sources, on reducing operating costs. Apparently a significant portion of costs for Space Dynamics, AeroSpace, and the like go to simply keeping their fleets running. **haha.**

**Is that really all you could come up with? You're struggling, Wolf.**

But why now, all of a sudden, was this something that aero companies were craving? Fox couldn't understand why A-Tac would risk harboring a murderous species just to cut corners in costs, unless these businesses were really that methodical and insensitive.** you're rather cocky when we're not face to face, Fox. I'd beat you in a fight, easy.**

Regardless, Fox needed to find out Space Dynamics' involvement in this Aparoid business. If it was just Ricky and his development team, the problem would be manageable. **Whoa, fighting? Is your pride hurt? Keep in mind all those dogfights I beat you in - I could do it easy on the ground too. **But if the entire organization was involved?

**hey, let's not forget who saved your ass last month during the Invasion.**

**Let's not forget who saved your ass yesterday.**

A pause.** fair enough.** Fox was about to reply with something, but his comm buzzed again, coming from another unknown number.

"Yeah?" Fox said, wondering if it was just his comm bugging out again. "Who is this?"

"It's Adrian," the voice said. "Remember when you asked me to decipher those creepy voicemails? I saved the old ones when you handed me your phone, and I've cracked them a bit."

He nearly forgot. His mystery sender had at least been consistent, sending him messages at 12:01 AM CST on the dot every day. The end of today would be when the countdown got to one, and he was curious to know what exactly would happen. "Thank you," he said, wondering how much time Adrian devoted to fixing this problem. "I really appreciate it. I've still been receiving them, too."

"I can crack the new ones, if you want. You won't be able to discern their voice, and I don't know where the messages are coming from, but you can at least understand what the guy's saying."

"Which is?"

Adrian paused. "I think you ought to be here. I'll send you my address, and we can go over them."

His tone wasn't comforting. "Alright, thanks," Fox said. "I'll see you soon, then."

The comm hung up with a click, and Fox stared back at the laptop monitor. He'd gotten anonymous comm messages before, especially the few months after the Lylat Wars. But they were usually obsessed fans or teenagers pranking him, and they never amounted to anything substantial. Something about this was disconcerting though, and Fox needed to take care of it.

**Hey Wolf, I won't be returning any of your texts for the next couple of hours. Or however long this takes.**

** oh. What for?**

** Private business.**

** Fox needs his alone time? damn, I'm impressed it takes you a couple of hours.**

Fox didn't know whether to cringe or laugh.** No, it's not that. It's nothing big really, I just won't be able to respond. **He wasn't sure what else to say, so he added:** Recover quickly.**

**Thanks. and try not to have too much fun with yourself.**

_Gods._ Fox closed his laptop and headed to the coffee shop exit.

* * *

Adrian's place was a two-story brick house in a stereotypical upper-middle class, suburban neighborhood. Fox got out of his car and approached the door, ringing the doorbell. It chimed, and Fox wondered how much Adrian must have spent to own such an ornate home.

The snow leopard in question opened the door. His outfit - a baggy graphic T-shirt and sweatpants - fit the exhausted expression on his muzzle. "Did you just wake up?" Fox asked.

"Haven't slept yet," he said, scratching the fur on his head and beckoning Fox to enter his house. Paintings hung off the walls, and the hardwood floor looked impressively polished. "Take off your shoes here, please. Scuffs are a no-no."

Fox obliged, but he couldn't help but think that the cleanliness of the house didn't match the lazy leopard in front of him. "Is this your house?" Fox asked.

"Well, it's my parents'. I'm just home for winter break." Adrian turned a corner and disappeared from sight for a few seconds before returning with an apple in his hand. "I'm still in college, remember?"

Fox nodded. It hadn't occurred to him because when he should have been a college freshman, he was fighting a war. Granted, many people his age were also fighting, but he couldn't help but wonder what the "ordinary" life was like - get a degree, find a job, settle down, raise a family-

"I can't help but recognize that voice!" The words echoed down a hallway, and a bit later the thuds of footsteps on stairs got louder. Adrian sighed, almost looking disappointed.

"That's my dad," he said. "He'll want to talk to you for hours, and it's a pain."

Fox was startled and wasn't sure whether or not this man was some strange admirer of Fox, or if he legitimately knew him from somewhere. Clad in a dress shirt and slacks, the older snow leopard approached with a grin. "Good to meet you, and welcome," the man said, shaking Fox's hand firmly. "I'm Ralph Karr. We never truly met, although I did hand you awards on numerous occasions."

Something clicked, and Fox wondered why he didn't notice Adrian's last name earlier. Ralph Karr was the Executive Vice President of the flight academy's board of directors, at least when Fox went there. He remembered him being the talkative one of the school's leadership - students took bets guessing how many minutes he would ramble off topic in every speech.. "Nice to meet you," Fox said. "Are you still working with the academy?"

Ralph nodded. "And we're doing better than ever. After your actions in the Lylat Wars, we have so many brave, valiant souls come through our ranks, wanting to be the next big hero."

Fox could only smile back, but he knew that this conversation wasn't going to be thrilling. He turned to one of his default responses whenever someone brought this up. "It was nothing; I just did what I had to do."

"Well, we're all grateful for it," Ralph said. "So how have you been? Adrian says that your mission ended in success?"

_If you could call it that._ Fox nodded, but then wasn't sure how much he was supposed to know or tell other people. "We saved Space Dynamics a hefty amount of money, at least."

"And you wrecked one of their major competitors!" Ralph shrugged his shoulders. "I mean, it was completely their fault. I'm not surprised they were stealing materials from Space Dynamics, but the attempted kidnappings? No one would do business with them if they even attempted to hurt Fox McCloud."

Fox smiled again, but he was getting rather antsy to end this conversation. Adrian, tapping his foot in the background, looked even more impatient. "They were dead soon anyway," Fox said. "Aerospace is developing at a blazing speed, and A-Tac hasn't been relevant at all this decade."

"Here, do you want a seat?" Fox couldn't say no, but he didn't have the time to respond at all. He followed Ralph into a different room, and as the Karrs sat together on a couch, Fox took a seat on a recliner. "How's the rest of your life been?" Ralph asked. "Anything eventful happen?"

"Other than the missions, nothing really." Ignoring the whole Aparoid Invasion that occurred nearly a month ago, Fox's life wasn't honestly that exciting. The missions died down, the post-war high ended, and Fox finished some university classes. That was it.

"And your girlfriend . . . are you still with that blue vixen?"

"Krystal?" Fox shook his head, and he noticed Adrian get out his comm. "No, we're just friends."

Ralph's eyebrows and tail raised, and he looked genuinely surprised. "Really? Never would have imagined. You saved her life and became a couple . . . it would have been the perfect story."

Before Fox could mutter, "Too perfect," a comm rang in the distance. Ralph propped himself up from the couch. "You'll have to excuse me, I apologize."

"It's fine," Adrian said, standing up. "I needed to speak with him anyway." As Ralph exited the room, Adrian led Fox upstairs and down some corridors. "I just called him using a different number on my comm," Adrian said. "Otherwise, he'd never stop talking."

"Welcome to my lair," Adrian said, throwing the door open. It was almost impressive how stereotypically teenager the room was. Granted, Adrian was only a freshman in college, but the action movie posters, random sports trophies, and strewn clothes reeked of teenage male. The only out of place object was the desk in the corner with three computer monitors situated on it. "I don't understand how anybody could possibly need three monitors," Fox said.

Adrian pointed to each monitor, one by one. "Coding, more coding, and Internet. It's really useful." He tapped his computer's power button with his foot. "Sorry, you'll have to give me a second."

Fox peered around the room to try to discern more about Adrian's character, but there was nothing alarming or out of place. And the waiting time did seriously seem like one second. "Alright, here are the sound files," Adrian said, pulling up waveforms on the monitor. "Labelled 7, 6, and 5. Number 7 had nothing important, but I'll play it anyway."

The clip was only about ten seconds. Adrian pressed play and seemingly nothing happened. A few seconds later, there was a loud exhale, but that was the end of the file. "I remember that," Fox said. "It was the only one without much noise in it."

"Yup, then number 6, the second day, your stalker seems a little more excited."

This clip was still only ten seconds, but this time it was filled with talking. "Hey. Hey! Hey! Hey!" The voice was mangled, warped, and indiscernible, and after a couple of seconds the clip faded out.

"It sounds like a stupid prank," Fox said, yet his body wasn't agreeing with his words. The fur on his arms was a bit tingly, and something about the warped voice made him feel uncomfortable.

"Here's number 5."

"By the time you figure this out, you might not be alive to hear it, but I'll say it anyway." The voice turned into a shrill shriek. "I've always wanted to say it. You always pissed me off. You've always pissed me right off, McCloud."

After the clip ended, Adrian swiveled in his chair and looked at Fox. "What is that supposed to mean, Fox?" he asked. "Who is this? I'm concerned for you."

Fox couldn't honestly answer. Obviously his stalker had to know who he was, but Fox couldn't rack his brains for someone who had a vendetta against him. At least, not anyone that he truly knew. "I'm not sure," Fox said, taking out his comm. "But he's sent me three more messages since then, and if you could crack any of these, it'd be much appreciated."

Adrian took Fox's comm and opened it, removing the memory chip and plugging it into his computer. A database popped up on one of the monitors, containing what Fox assumed was his recent phone history. "Wow," Adrian said, scrolling. "Tone it down with these texts to Wolf."

Fox furrowed his eyebrows. "I thought I asked you not to go through my personal information."

"I have to access everything to get to your voicemail," Adrian said, mumbling. Fox felt like that was either a blatant lie or just a poor excuse. "And really? 'Want to go for drinks later?' Tell me he's not asking you out on a date."

"Adrian-"

"Sorry, sorry." The leopard raised his hands. "I tease him about it too. I just have to."

Fox was about to ask when Adrian had talked to Wolf before, but just decided on saying, "Weren't you the one concerned about my safety?"

"Right, right." Adrian clicked a window that pulled up images of the three new waveforms on Fox's comm. "Honestly, the voice is well hidden, but the messages themselves are poorly obfuscated. I'm surprised I didn't find how to crack this earlier. Let me just run this . . ."

While not completely sure what was happening, Fox assumed Adrian was running the voicemails through some program. After a few seconds, Adrian clapped. "Cool, messages 4, 3, and 2. Let's start with the oldest?"

Fox nodded, and Adrian clicked play. "You're so close to cracking the puzzle!" the voice exclaimed. "For a smart vulpine like you, it shouldn't be difficult. And I can personally congratulate you when you do. How fantastic, huh?"

The messages seemed almost childlike, but as each one played, Fox felt his muscles tense a little tighter. He wiped sweat from his eyebrow before looking back at the monitor. "Number three, please."

Adrian nodded and clicked the mouse. "What a fuck-up. Pathetic, whiny, daddy's boy and a pathetic whiny fuck-up. I'll be ashamed if you die here of all places. Honestly. Here? Come on McCloud! Your father's death was pitiful. Yours should be with much more grace."

Fox felt his heart plummet as if it were an empty pit rotting in his stomach. Adrian turned to him, concern on his face, but all Fox could do was stare at the monitor. "You okay?" he asked. "I'm afraid, Fox."

Fox forced himself to nod, still staring at the monitor. Something was awfully wrong about this. He glanced out of Adrian's window, but his eyes saw nothing in particular, and he tried shutting it out, blinking, running his hands through the fur on his head but everything led back to that 21 second waveform on Adrian's screen.

"This was when you were captured by A-Tac, right?" Adrian asked, and Fox nodded in response. "It sounds like this person knows where you are, then." Fox nodded again, but he knew that realization wasn't why he felt so-

"Can you play that one again?" Fox's mind forced himself to say it. Adrian obliged, and the file repeated, the words ringing loudly in Fox's ears.

"Pathetic, whiny, daddy's boy and a pathetic whiny fuck-up."

"Pathetic, whiny, daddy's boy-"

The suspicion was always there. Ever since he heard that Star Wolf made it out alive, he wondered. It didn't make any sense because he should have been dead. He was definitely dead. But there was always the possibility . . .

"I'll play the next one, if that's okay." Adrian waited for a few seconds, then clicked his mouse.

"You're afraid, aren't you?"

The voice was slightly clearer this time, not as masked by any vocal modulators. It didn't quite sound like him, but the recollection was at the tip of his tongue, ever elusive. "Play it again, please." Adrian nodded, but when he hit play again, nothing happened.

"What?" He clicked a few more times in frustration. "This doesn't make any-"

"I can see you," the voice whispered, and Fox took a step back. Instinctively, he reached for his blaster before remembering that he left it in his car.

"This is irritating," Adrian said. "I know you can hide things in different file types. Opening a picture might play music, for example. But this . . . I've never seen anyone hide alternate messages in a voicemail. I don't even understand how it's possible."

Adrian hit play again, and this time it was rather quiet save for a low rumble. It grew louder, and Fox quickly recognized it to be the sound of chuckling. Laughter. It filled the room, floor to ceiling, and pounded the speakers.

The unmistakable, swinish cackling of Pigma Dengar.

"What the hell!" Adrian yelled, shutting off his speakers. The voice still lingered in the room, echoing in Fox's ears. "Who is that, Fox?"

It didn't make sense. But somehow, General Pepper is still alive. Wolf, Leon, and Panther are all still alive. The Aparoids in some way are still alive. Sure, it was only to be expected that Pigma Dengar was still alive, but how? How could anybody, even if they were aided by Aparoids, survive the ruthless expanses of space?

"Fox?" Adrian asked, and Fox just then noticed how much his own fur was drenched in sweat. His body felt searing hot and jittery.

"It's fine, Adrian," Fox finally said, taking his comm's memory chip from the computer. "Yeah it's a bit creepy, but I'm not in any real danger. Thanks for figuring out the messages though."

Adrian stared Fox down. "You're lying," the leopard said.

Fox made himself shrug. "I'll take care of this," he said. "Don't worry. Sorry for creeping you out."

* * *

The large, gray creases of the latest issue of the Cornerian Post were literally laying on his face, but Fox didn't have the energy to brush the newspaper off. After the past couple of hours searching for government documents online and reading newspapers on his bed, he wasn't any closer to understanding how Pigma could have lived.

General Pepper survived, sure, but he was only infected by the Aparoids. Pigma was fully assimilated into an Aparoid spacecraft. If the assimilation didn't kill the swine, the destruction of the Aparoid ship should have. Something was missing from the story, between Pigma's survival and the space industry's recent fascination with Aparoid nanotechnology, but hours of perusing through articles didn't get him any closer.

Fox finally flicked the newspaper off of his face and stared at his blank ceiling. The issue of Ricky wasn't something he could go to the police with - Space Dynamics were dominating the aerospace industry, and even the thought of this Aparoid scandal could send Space Dynamics out of business. However, the issue of Pigma was something he ought to go to the police for. He just wasn't sure how to start - or how the police was supposed to be successful at all in catching his stalker.

He heard his comm buzz on his nightstand, but he took a couple of minutes to reach over and grab it. 9:03. No new calls. No new text messages. It was odd that it buzzed in the first place if nothing happened - Fox remembered that he desperately needed to get a new phone - but he remembered (rather, Adrian remembered) that Wolf sent him messages a few hours ago that he never checked. **are you doing anything? want to go for drinks later?**

**Aren't you under house arrest?** It didn't seem appropriate to get drinks when Fox's life could be in danger, but after a few seconds, Fox realized his life would be in danger regardless if he's getting drunk or sulking in his room.

**I already left the planet for a couple of days. if they don't care about that, they shouldn't care about me leaving a few miles.** Fox wasn't sure what to say to that, and Wolf sent him another message.** come on, there's a fun place a few minutes from northern park, and my guess is you don't have anything better to do anyway.**

**You know me so well.** The request seemed out of place, but Fox felt like Wolf wouldn't take no for an answer. Besides, Wolf was right. He was making no progress on finding anything about Pigma or the Aparoids, and it was well past closing time for the police station. **Sure, I'll go**.

* * *

The place was off the corner of a few blocks of unassuming office buildings. As Fox stepped in, he was greeted by rather intricate lighting, candlelit tables, a jazz piano whittling away in the background, and people chattering in business casual clothes. It wasn't quite formal, but it could easily pass for an upscale sit-down restaurant if it wanted. However, the most surprising aspect was the man he was following, Wolf O'Donnell, wearing an Oxford button down collared shirt and looking more like he was going to a business retreat rather than a bar.

Fox half expected to be waited on at the door, but when Wolf walked to an empty table, he followed suit and sat down with him. A feline waitress made eye-contact with him across the room and signaled that she'd come. Wolf hadn't yet said anything and was just peering at the drink menu, and the silence made Fox a bit uncomfortable. Unsure of what to say, he just said the obvious. "This is not what I expected."

Wolf glanced up and grinned. "It tries to be classy. But everyone still gets shitfaced drunk, don't worry."

"Is that why you invited me here? To get shitfaced?"

"Not exactly." Wolf flipped through the menu. "I just figured you had nothing else to do. If what everyone said about you is true, you're pretty mopey." Something must have changed in Fox's expression, because Wolf smiled after that. "And I wanted to try to fix that."

Compared to how Fox was feeling, Wolf's smile, snarkiness, and the way he'd smirk after every small thing Fox did were awfully exuberant. "That seems a bit unhealthy. I'm not super cheery like everyone else, so you want to make me an alcoholic? Thanks a lot, Wolf." After Wolf just shrugged, Fox continued on. "How do you know about this place, anyway?"

"I've probably been to more places in Corneria City than you have. Back when I was in the Academy, I explored a lot of the city. And even though it was more risky than it was worth, when I was operating Sargasso, we would sometimes have to come down here. The national defense here is pretty lackluster."

"I wouldn't be so confident, Wolf." Fox picked up his own drink menu and started to look through it. "I know downtown and the CTC like the back of my hand, on account of all of the galas and receptions I'm forced to attend."

Wolf smirked again. "You sound bitter."

"Maybe. That's why I'm a bit weirded out by this-" Fox waved his arms around to the rest of the bar. "I'm used to seeing people in combat suits or military attire. Not whatever the hell you're wearing."

Wolf raised his eyebrows. "A shirt?"

Fox palmed his hand to his forehead. "You know what I mean. This atmosphere is just different for me. Where did you get time to buy that shirt, anyway?"

"You'd be surprised how casual the life of a criminal is. At Sargasso, when I wasn't having to make amends with other mob groups because of what dumbasses on my station did, I had time to do damn near anything. Granted, cleaning up everyone's messes took out a good chunk of my time, but I'm surprised that I'm more used to attending bars than you are."

"It's not as if I've never been to a bar before," Fox said. "After the Lylat Wars, Falco and I . . . honestly got pretty trashy, barhopping nearly every night. But that was only for like a month, and it was six or seven years ago. Outside of the Aparoid Invasion, my life has been uneventful. It's just politics and dinners. Too many dinners."

"What do you mean?"

Fox sighed. "Imagine you're part of the aircraft design team for Space Dynamics, and you've been contracted by the Cornerian government to introduce improvements to the ships their Air Force is using. After a couple of months, you test fuel systems that are 70% more efficient, allowing pilots to stay in the air for longer, and even saving lives by making risky interplanetary flights much more feasible. You want to show off this new technology to the Defense Minister, Air Force captains - really everyone involved in the military, and because you also have a commercial market, might as well make the reveal a bit showy. Plan a big gala. Invite everyone. Invite guest speakers. And who better to speak on behalf of Space Dynamics, for the perfect seal of credibility on your new design, than _the_ Fox McCloud. After all, he_ saved_ Lylat using Space Dynamics technology. No one's going to distrust him."

Wolf was still staring intently at him, so Fox continued. "In and of itself, that's fine. I don't mind speaking for Space Dynamics. For the most part, they're a good company that did a lot for me and my father. The problem is that this doesn't happen just one time. I'm invited to speak for every release for any technological or military advancement. It's not just Space Dynamics and it's not just the Air Force. Anything remotely related to the Cornerian Defense System at all, you can bet that I'll be speaking for them. Some of them are for the whole team Star Fox, but most of them just want me individually.

"And it's spilled over to politics as well. Various interest groups, from Greenthink to the National Blaster Convention invite me to dinners and have me speak for them for random events. It's gotten to the point where lobbyists call me about every week, offering me money to publicly support certain legislative decisions. In some ways, it's interesting - I'm well versed on current events and there are plenty of political issues I want to campaign for. But I've been advised against having any discernable opinion on anything when I speak lest I look too liberal or too conservative. My speeches amount to ten minutes of filler of why it's critical we evaluate this issue and why it's great that this group is focusing on it. I'd like to speak on my own opinion, or have some sort of personality, but I can't. I'm literally a placeholder that every group of any kind can mold into whatever they want and say, 'Look, Fox McCloud supports us, you should support us!'"

"And, keep in mind, I'm still a private mercenary. Some of the dinners and speeches I can avoid, but the instant I start flaking out on a Space Dynamics or Cornerian Defense meeting, there are going to be ramifications. Higher-ups in the government like to remind me that even though the government hired us to help in the Lylat Wars, and even though Team Star Fox almost single-handedly won them the conflict, I'm still millions of credits in debt because my father never paid for the Great Fox. Military service and speaking on behalf of Gods-know-who is how I'm supposed to pay it off. I'm completely whipped by the government."

Wolf didn't say anything for a while, and Fox felt a bit embarrassed for ranting so long. It was refreshing, Fox realized, to be able to explain his frustrations without some sarcastic quip about how he should be more grateful of his fortunes and how hard his life must be as a national hero. The entire time, Wolf listened in silence, nodding when appropriate. He almost wanted to think it was to be unexpected of Wolf O'Donnell, but after getting to actually know Wolf over the past few days and not just the caricature of Wolf he envisioned in his head for years, Fox knew that it wasn't unexpected at all. Wolf was probably the most genuine person he knew.

Fox still hadn't heard a response from Wolf, so he just said, "Sorry for bitching for so long."

"What? No, you're fine-"

"I still live comfortably and haven't lived in constant danger like you might have-"

"Other people's lives sucking more doesn't belittle your own problems, Fox. You have a right to be pissed." Fox really appreciated the empathy, yet it still didn't make him feel completely comfortable. He still didn't really know what the man across the table had gone through-

"And since you won't ask on your own accord, I'll give you an invitation." Wolf emphatically threw down his drink menu, leaned back, and crossed his arms. "Ask me anything about my life."

"What?"

"Good evening sirs." The feline waitress from earlier, a woman probably in her forties, approached the table. All of the recent interruptions made Fox forget that he was in a bar, and now that he thought about it, a drink was the exact thing he needed right now. "Can I get you men started with any appetizers?"

Wolf shook his head. "Not hungry. I'll just have a Katinian Blaze. Stirred."

"And you?"

"Just an appletini, thanks," Fox said, and the waitress nodded.

Wolf's eyes lit up, and he brought his hand to his muzzle as if he was holding back a mischievous grin. As soon as the bartender left, Wolf burst into a fit of laughter that made Fox chuckle himself. "Appletini?" Wolf managed to spit out. "_Gaaaaaaaaaaaay._"

Fox raised an eyebrow. "Says the guy who invited me, and no one else, to drinks with him."

"Fair enough." Fox said it jokingly, but it reminded himself of Adrian's comments. A chill ran through his spine at the realization that, with how classy this bar seemed, this could actually be a date, but he brushed it off.

"What about the asking-you-anything deal?"

"Right." Wolf repositioned himself on his chair. "I know you've probably been aching to know a lot about my life." Fox's face apparently showed disbelief, because Wolf responded with, "Don't try to hide it. You keep commenting about how you have no clue what I did on Sargasso, or how I seem different from what you expected, so here's your chance. Ask me anything. You get thirty minutes."

The older canine seemed oddly confident, and Fox wasn't sure where to start. "I guess, how do you have a house in Northridge?"

"It was my uncle's. He used to work as an engineer for AeroSpace, back when they were more focused on computer hardware. He was on one of the teams that designed some of the first AS personal comms, so needless to say, he's pretty loaded."

There were too many questions to choose from, and Fox wasn't really comfortable asking any of them. "What's your uncle doing now?" he asked.

"Dead."

That was why he was afraid to ask anything. Even though Wolf seemed unfazed, and Fox had more than his own share of personal hardship, it was still a touchy subject for him to even ask about. The waitress came back and silently slipped them their drinks before disappearing, and Fox finished off all of his appletini immediately. Suddenly, a smile crept on his face as he thought of a plan.

"Don't think for a second," Wolf began, "that I'm impressed you can drink an entire appletini at once."

"That's not it," Fox said, swirling the empty glass in his fingertips. "Next question, what's your favorite color?"

Wolf's ears perked up and he looked taken aback. "Are you serious?"

"Ask you anything, right?"

"Purple, I suppose."

Fox imitated the patented O'Donnell smirk the best he could. "If you were stranded on a desert island-"

"I thought you were going to ask me questions about my life," Wolf said. "Not fucking icebreakers."

"You sound upset - I thought I got 30 minutes of uninterrupted questions?" Fox smirked again. "Or are you not a man of your word?"

Wolf furrowed his eyebrows. "Gods damn it I can't believe I'm about to play along with this."

As childish as it was, there was something delightful about teasing Wolf like this. Fox wasn't going to give him the satisfaction he wanted so easily. "If you were stranded on a deserted island, and you could only bring one thing, what would it be?"

"My Wolfen, so I could get out."

"No sooner spoken than broken. What is it?"

Wolf sat for a few seconds, tapping the rim of his glass with his clawtips. "Silence."

At first, Fox kept asking Wolf riddles and childish questions as they both drank, stumping him on a very simple riddle about onions. But somehow, as Fox got more tipsy from the multiple appletinis, the conversation progressed and Fox asked more pertinent questions about Wolf's life. Fox felt comfortable enough (and lost enough inhibition) to ask about Wolf's cybernetic eye, and it was at this point that he realized he'd been chatting to Wolf like this for well over an hour.

"It was actually Panther's doing," Wolf said. "He found a surgeon that could install a cybernetic eye, since not having depth perception, believe it or not, makes you a kinda shitty pilot. And even though I knew cybernetic eyes could get irritating, because out of nowhere they get unbearably dry for hours and there's nothing you can do about it, it beats not having an eye at all."

"Did you have a cybernetic eye before that?"

Wolf nodded. "For a short while. Let's just say Andross's technology was a bit . . . defective."

"So I'm guessing you just lost your eye early or . . . wait what, how did you get through academy with one eye? Vision is kind of a prerequisite for being a pilot."

"I went through Academy with two fully functional eyes. Right before Star Wolf was created, I was in a fight with Pigma Dengar and the little swine fought dirty as hell and ripped one of my eyes out. That's why Andross had it replaced."

A pang of guilt shot through Fox. How could he have forgotten? The man who betrayed his father had been stalking him over the past week and made his intentions to kill Fox rather clear, and here he was, getting drunk with Wolf O'Donnell? If Pigma was truly following him, then of course he knew he was at this bar, and now he's putting everyone else in the building in unnecessary danger just because he wanted a few drinks?

"Y'alright?" Wolf asked, taking a sip of his (3rd? 4th? Fox stopped counting) drink. There was that other nagging feeling that seemed to chip at the side of his skull and seemed to freeze the room. What the hell was Wolf doing? There was no reason for Wolf to be here, seemingly pouring out life secrets to him, unless there was some ulterior motive. And what worried Fox was that the more he thought of it, the more Adrian's claims seemed realistic. Wolf was flirting with him, and Fox hadn't the slightest clue how to handle it-

_(No, that's ridiculous. Wolf isn't flirting with you. Hell, Wolf isn't gay in the first place and-)_

_ (How could Pigma Dengar find you anyway, like hell he of all people is going to kill Fox McCloud-)_

_ (face it, you're trying to stay unhappy. you're afraid of even thinking about your emotions-)_

_ (but he murdered your father and he wants to murder your next-)_

"I'm fine," Fox said with an exhale. If the room was frozen before, its vibrancy came springing back full force. The piano kept hampering at soft jazz classics, the lighting came back, and Wolf went back to his usual banter. In a sudden moment of clarity, Fox realized that despite the countless instances of his life being at risk, and the System's fate being on his shoulders, the past minute was the closest to neurotic he remembered being.

And he desperately needed to stop drinking so he could calm himself down.

"I think," Wolf began in a low, husky voice, "that you need to try something other than appletinis. Because I'm close to crying for you if you don't stop with that awful drink."

He _desperately_ needed to stop drinking.

"Whatever you say, boss."

But that wasn't going to happen.

* * *

It was excruciating. He had the foresight to know this was a terrible, terrible idea, but he couldn't make his body stop itself. At some point some drinks ago, his body decided _fuck it_, we're getting trashed, and he could only watch as his body wreaked havoc on itself.

There was a coping method they taught at Cornerian Flight Academy in the instance one was held hostage - or in this case, intoxicated. Count. It was supposed to help focus your brain off of the issues at hand, and Fox figured it would work great now.

One. It's 1:03 AM. It's also the message from Pigma Dengar he knew he would see when he opened his comm._ This counting strategy is off to a great start._

Two. Two empty glasses of bourbon on the mahogany bar in front of him.

Three, now four, the amount of times Wolf's leg brushed up against Fox as he leans in close to tell another hilarious story of how Panther nearly killed everyone on the team.

Five. Five planets in the Interplanetary Defense Pentagon. Corneria, Fichina, Katina, Aquas, and Zoness.

Six, seven . . . probably eight now, times that Fox has had to readjust his seating on this uncomfortable barstool.

Nine. Nine members on the latest team hired by Ricky. Fox himself, Falco, Slip, Krystal, Wolf, Leon, Panther, Natalie, Adrian-

"Hey," Fox began, remembering how Adrian referenced Wolf earlier today. "Did you know Adrian before we were hired by Ricky?"

Wolf turned to him. "Yeah. Well, not Adrian as much. But I dated his older sister, Natalie, back in my Academy days."

Fox's ears perked up. "Really? I'm struggling to imagine young Wolf O'Donnell being much of a ladies-man."

"It was easy. Being a wolf, women just flocked towards me. But Natalie and I didn't last long. She wasn't exactly my type."

"Oh? And pray tell, what exactly is your type?"

Wolf leaned in (_for the now fifth time_) and gave a smug grin. "Well wouldn't little Fox like to know?"

Fox returned the smile. "What is_ that_ supposed to mean?"

Ignoring the question, Wolf tapped on the bar table. "Someone strong, muscular. Independent, as stupid as that sounds. Someone just as sarcastic as me. But most of all," and there went that shit-eating grin again on Wolf's muzzle, "someone who loves to play rough."

Those weren't the answers Fox expected, especially since most would reply first with species, hair length, etc. But he could see it. "And what about you?" Wolf asked. "I want to know what _Corneria's hero_, Fox McCloud sees in a partner."

Fox imitated Wolf's tapping on the bar. He couldn't honestly remember the last time he had a true romantic partner, if ever. Besides his relationship with Krystal, the last thing he remembered were drunk one-night-stands with various vixens after the Lylat Wars, and that certainly wasn't something he wanted to repeat-

"Do you mind?" said a female's voice. Sitting two stools down from him was a vixen shooting him an irritated glare. It took Fox a few seconds to register his tapping was annoying her.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't realize how loud it—"

Someone shoved Fox's shoulder and sat in the stool between him and the vixen. Boat shoes, two necklaces, obscenely bright red fitted polo to enunciate his nonexistent muscles - it was impossible to look more like a preppy douche than this guy. The red-furred vulpine had a scowl on his face that Fox could just not take seriously. "What's your deal, bud?" he said, leaning into Fox's face. "Think you can hit on my girl like that?"

"Ugh, Jeffrey . . . " the vixen groaned.

Common sense told Fox to apologize, but the combination of bourbons and appletinis made it impossible for him to control his laughter. By the time Fox composed himself, he looked up to see Jeffrey now standing over him. "Are you actually real?" Fox said. After Jeffrey grunted, he continued. "I don't think it's possible to be any more insecure. _Your_ girl? Hilarious."

Fox smiled and leaned in closer, taunting Jeffrey. He thought Jeffrey wouldn't touch him, but a second later Fox was pulled by the shirt collar into the other vulpine's face. "You jackass," Jeffrey spat. "I — uhh . . ."

"No, it's okay," Fox said, now grinning. "Take your time, big guy. I mean, I'm sure _your_ girl appreciates this, causing a scene in a bar for no reason."

"Oh you faggot, I'm gonna . . . " Jeffrey raised a hand in a fist, but suddenly looked confused and loosened his grip. "Okay, this is weird. I gotta ask, are you Fox McCloud?"

The question hit harder than the punch probably would have. "No," Fox said, cringing at how unconvincing the lie was.

Jeffrey definitely didn't buy it, and he let go of Fox's shirt collar, backing up. "Sorry dude," he said. "Really, I didn't know. It's weird seeing you in person."

Fox could practically feel the anger creeping up in his chest. "Wait. I hit on your girlfriend and act like an asshole, but I'm Fox McCloud so it's a-fucking-okay?"

"You _did_ hit on my girlfriend?" God damn, this guy just didn't get it. Sure, Fox was egging him on for no reason earlier. But now, Fox was rather aware of not only his own actions but Jeffrey's, of how the preppy vulpine shifted his weight to his back foot, preparing to lunge. And Fox couldn't wait for Jeffrey to punch him, because his self-defense to reciprocate would make the tool regret his entire day.

"Why not?" For the first time, Fox noticed how loud his voice was, and noticed heads turning to him. "Aren't you mad? You called me a jackass a few seconds ago, and you were going to hit me." He closed the distance, inches from Jeffrey's face. "Don't you want to hit me now?"

"I'm going to. And you can't possibly be him, anyway."

Fox laughed and opened his mouth to instigate further, but he didn't need to. Jeffrey jabbed Fox in the gut, and while he felt a sharp pain in his abdomen, it didn't have enough momentum to move Fox an inch. He didn't need much more of an invitation to lunge forward on the vulpine. The next few moments were a blur. He remembered the shattering of glass, him being on top of Jeffrey, wanting to punch that cocky grin off his muzzle, people shouting and yelling, the sound of wood snapping and debris cluttering the bar. Someone pulled him up and dragged him away from the broken table, away from Jeffrey and eventually into the frigid cold.

"Fox, what the hell was that about?"

He regained his surroundings; he was in the parking lot, being dragged over the shoulder by Wolf and his feet stumbling through the snow. Fox felt dull pain all over his body, and was surprised he didn't hurt more. Either that, or Jeffrey sucked at fighting.

Fox laughed. "He was an asshole. Why didn't you do anything?"

"Interfering in a barfight? You don't understand how pride works." Wolf helped Fox over to his car, the black convertible a sharp contrast against the snow. "And picking a fight with him seems like something _I'd_ do, not you."

Part of Fox thanked Wolf for not saying, "Not Fox," or even worse, "Not Fox McCloud," but the other part hated him for reminding him why he got in the fight in the first place. Wolf was giving him a concerned gaze that looked eerily out of place.

"Give me the keys," Wolf said, walking to the driver's side of the car.

Fox fumbled in his pockets for them, but then furrowed his brows. "No?"

"You're drunk as hell, Fox."

Shit. He was. "Yeah, and?" His forced giggle turned into a real one. He hadn't drank this much in years, and it was refreshing in a scary way. "You aren't getting them."

Wolf walked to Fox, reached out his hand, and gave him a stern look. It was almost cute. "You can't command me to do anything, _Lord O'Donnell_."

"Then I'll take them from you."

"Like hell you will."

Not a second later, Fox's back was slammed against his car, Wolf's hand pinning his wrist against the cold metal. Wolf stared into Fox's eyes and smirked. His other hand reached down Fox's pants pocket and grabbed his keys, and he jingled them an inch from Fox's face before letting go.

Fox stood there a few seconds, letting the shivers run through his body, before stumbling to the other side of the car. As Wolf got in, he got in the passenger's seat and closed the door. Now with the outside wind muffled, all Fox could hear was the jangling of the keys and his own heart thumping.

Wolf put the keys in the ignition, and the car whirred to life. Thankfully, the sounds of the engine calmed Fox's thoughts.

"Where do you live?" Wolf asked.

"What?"

"I need to drop you off."

Fox stared at Wolf, an eyebrow raised. "You can't be serious. You're just going to drop me off? What are you going to do about my car?" When Wolf opened his mouth to speak, Fox cut him off. "What the hell are you doing, Wolf?"

"You're a bit talkative when you're drunk," Wolf said, laughing, but Fox didn't respond. "I'll return it first thing in the morning, if you're seriously worried about your car."

Something wasn't right. Everything wasn't right. "What the hell are you doing, Wolf?" His voice came out much more aggressive than he wanted, but he didn't care. "Why are you trying so damn hard?"

Wolf gave an "innocent" shrug, which made Fox unbuckle his seatbelt and get right in the lupine's smug face. "You could have done anything else today. You could have petitioned to the police to drop your criminal charges or gain Cornerian citizenship. If you wanted to live low, you could have not accepted Ricky's mission . Hell, if you wanted to get drunk you could have done it with your team that you've known for years rather than me, someone you wanted dead for over six years."

Wolf only laughed, which pissed Fox off even more. "I could ask you all the same questions myself."

"That's not the point!"

"Then wh-"

"Why did you save me in Corneria?" Fox's voice reverberated in the car as he realized he was near yelling, and he could only hear his own heaving breath. "During the Aparoid Invasion. We hated each other. You wanted to kill me. I wanted to kill you. You could have left me for dead and finished the mission yourself. "

The smirk seemed to be permanently etched on Wolf's face. "I thought we got over all of this."

"You just don't make any damn sense." Fox was staring directly into the lupine's eyes. "And I'm tired of wondering what the hell you're up to."

Wolf's smile was gone now, and suddenly he looked tired, contemplating. But after a few seconds, Wolf spoke up, his voice huskier than before. "I thought I've been painfully obvious this entire time. But I guess you can't take a hint."

Fox was near certain what would happen next, but that didn't prepare him when he felt Wolf's gentle lips sink into his own. In his mind was a clamor of voices screaming at him to pull back, but his body reacted on its own accord, deftly pushing Fox into the lupine and returning the kiss. He couldn't think of anything; he could only feel Wolf's lips press into his own, the arousing taste of his tongue, and the warmth of his body as Fox wrapped his arm around Wolf's back and pulled him closer.

When Fox pulled away, the realization of what just occured was still elusive. His mind was a whirlpool of emotions and he could only stare into Wolf's eyes as he tried to ground himself back to reality._ Wolf just kissed me._ Fox didn't know how he'd react to the thought, but his body decided to squirm, and he leaned his face closer to Wolf's. _He just kissed me, and it was amazing._

"Fox?" He wasn't sure where Wolf's sudden concern came from. Fox felt like he should say something but he was at a complete loss for words, so he leaned in for another kiss. Wolf wasted no time in returning it, and the warmth on his lips surged through his body. He heard a low, approving growl as his fingers worked through Wolf's abdomen.

For a second, he felt himself lift in the air, only supported by Wolf's warm arms wrapped around his back. Then his back laid against the leather cushion as the lupine positioned his heavier body on top of him. All this time, locked in a kiss. Wolf's was tugging up at Fox's shirt, and the hands caressing his abdomen made Fox go wild.

He found his hands at Wolf's shirt buttons, but he fumbled to undo them. Wolf's laugh turned into a full roar as Fox decided to tear his shirt, exposing his impressive body. "You're an awful drunk," he said, and Fox squirmed, feeling his voice rumble through him.

"Mhmm." Fox lost his sense of time and place. Whatever thoughts were running through his mind were overpowered by the sensation coursing through his body, and soon, he gave up whatever little resistance he had to this situation. His body had been craving this for years.

Suddenly, the warmth left. Wolf pulled away from the embrace, and when Fox opened his eyes, he saw a dejected frown on the lupine's muzzle. "Fox," he said, "we should stop."

Fox was already panting, out of breath, but this knocked what was left out of him. "What? You got me drunk and offered to take me home. Don't act coy. You were planning this all along."

Wolf bit his lip. "We really should st—"

Fox cut him off with another kiss, reaching for his chest, but Wolf backed off and grabbed Fox by the shoulders. "Damn it," he said, pinning him against the seat. "Damn it, damn it, damn it,_ damn it!_"

Wolf gritted his teeth and stared at him a few seconds longer, then sighed and let go, stumbling back to the driver's seat. Fox sank back in the leather of the car. Wolf was still cursing and kept punching the steering wheel, each thud of his fist accompanied with an obnoxious honk. Fox's mind finally caught up to what was happening, and it wanted to scream at Wolf for fucking with him, but his body still felt deprived and was begging for Wolf to finish the job.

What was worse was that as the car whirred to life, Fox realized he never told Wolf his address. He tried to say it, but he couldn't remember it, and he wasn't sure where he was going now. And suddenly, without Wolf's body as a guide, Fox felt dizzy, cold, and confused. Very confused.

Unable to understand what the hell was going on, Fox laid across the backseat, curling up his legs and tail to fit. He tried to remember how this all happened, but his head throbbed in pain with every pulse of his heart. The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was the sight of Wolf's collared shirt strewn on the ground in front of him, and the feeling of pain as Fox dug his claws into his own legs.


	8. Slow Animals

_**Slow Animals  
**__Is it gone?_

Fox dreamt that a pickaxe was hammering against his skull and awoke to realize the sensation hadn't gone away. His eyes had barely opened, and bright light immediately barraged his eyesight. His limbs felt weak. Everything hurt. He had been drinking. And as he stumbled to sit upright in the seat and winced at the brightness of outside, he realized he'd drank way too much.

He couldn't pinpoint where he was, other than inside of his car, and the only concrete thoughts that came were, "My liver should have imploded," and, "I need to get home." He closed his eyes and fumbled his way to the driver seat of the car, banging his knee on something on the process. They weren't in the ignition and he couldn't feel around for them. He opened one eye, wincing, and looked around his car for his keys . . . and there. Right behind Wolf's shirt was his red keychain and _shit, what?_

Wolf's shirt?

Images of last night came rushing back to him. Collared shirts, mahogany counters, and appletini glasses. He was invited to a bar, they drank for a few hours, and then he made out with Wolf O'Donnell.

That last part didn't make any sense. But, now suddenly aware that his own shirt was strewn across the passenger seat and his fur was exposed to the cold, Fox knew it happened.

The words themselves seemed painfully out of place. The idea of it—him being romantic with his former _male_ rival—made him more than uneasy. But when he remembered the warmth of his body pressed against his and the taste of his lips . . .

Fox sighed. It was only now that he realized he was parked in Wolf's driveway, and he stared at the violet perennials that lined the entrance to Wolf's front door. The only thing that lined up was that Wolf clearly planned for the events last night to happen, but _why?_ Nothing made sense. _Six years ago, Wolf wanted nothing more than to kill me. A month ago, he saved my life twice. Two days ago, I saved his life. And yesterday, he tried to get in my pants._

Fox forced a chuckle at the ridiculousness of it. But if Wolf clearly wanted Fox, as inane as it was, why the hell didn't Fox just say no, or run away, or tell the smug lupine off? The thought of himself being gay never crossed his mind, but to be fair, the thought of any romance never crossed his mind. Still, at some point last night, his mind thought Wolf's body was the most attractive thing in the world, and he wasn't comfortable with that. And even now, as he remembered the lupine wearing that collared shirt now in his backseat, those thoughts were creeping back to him.

Now that he thought of it, Wolf had to be awake. Fox checked the clock in his car and it was already 10:30 AM. He imagined walking past the perennials and pounding on the door. Wolf would answer, his tail would flick, a scowl would form on his muzzle. Fox wasn't even sure what he would say, but he'd be shouting, pinning the lupine onto the ground. He wouldn't hurt him, but he'd be angry as hell, and confused, and his fur would flare up, and he'd leave with more questions than he entered with.

With an exhale, Fox geared his car in reverse and pulled out of the driveway.

* * *

He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice he missed the highway exit to get home until five minutes after he passed it. Maybe a long, mindless drive was exactly what he needed, except, Fox soon realized, he could only stare at broken white lines and bumper stickers for so long until his thoughts were jolted back into reality. He needed to keep Ricky from going further with the Aparoid developments, needed to somehow find Pigma before Pigma found him, needed to see if Wolf was connected with any of this, and needed to stop questioning his own damn sexuality.

Fox was tired of mulling things over. He _needed_ to just do something.

He turned off of the highway and headed towards downtown, into the Cornerian Financial District. He didn't go here often enough, but he at least knew his way towards the signature Space Dynamics building, a silver skyscraper that dominated the skyline. Fox parked, walked out of his car, and walked into the central lobby. It must have been recently renovated because Fox didn't remember much of the layout, and he certainly didn't remember the new secretaries.

"Morning," Fox said, nodding to the small feline behind the front counter. For a brief moment, he wondered what kissing _her_ would feel like, if her body would move as authoritatively, as commanding, if her womanly perfume and plump breasts would arouse him as much as the masculine scent and muscles holding him in the back of his car—

"Do you need something?"

Fox shuddered at his own thoughts. "Do you know where I can find a Ricky Von Spitze?"

The attendant hardly looked up from her computer. "Do you already have a reservation to speak with him? He's a very busy man and I can't tell you where he is now, but you can leave him a voicemail." The lines sounded dry and rehearsed.

"Couldn't reserve him. But he recently hired me for a mission, and it's critical I speak with him soon."

The attendant looked up, and her ears flicked. "Fox McCloud?" Suddenly she looked rushed, turning off her monitor and swiveling to fully face Fox. "I'm so sorry I didn't recognize you earlier! I can call Ricky now and tell him you're here."

At least being famous had its perks. "It's no problem," Fox said as she dialed the desk phone. Some moments later she turned back to Fox, but her smile was less vibrant.

"He's in room 17, fifth floor," she said. "But he's busy. I'm sure he won't really mind your company, but . . ."

Fox nodded. "Thank you." He made his way to the elevator. Of course, Ricky probably was busy, but the expression on the attendant's face made it clear that Ricky didn't want to see him regardless. The elevator doors shut and Fox wondered how dramatic he would be. Would he barge into an investor meeting and demand Ricky speak with him now? Would Ricky just try to avoid him and shirk responsibility?

Whatever the case, Fox realized as he was at the door of room 17, he wasn't going to take no for an answer. He knocked and waited for a couple of seconds before the door cracked open and he saw Ricky's familiar dark-furred face. "Fox!" Ricky said, feigning excitement. "I'm sorry, you'll just need to give me a moment."

"I need to speak with you now," Fox said, not breaking eye-contact. Ricky glanced back to the room and then back at Fox, and he began speaking in a hushed whisper.

"I already wired the twenty thousand credits to your bank account. I don't know what else you want."

"You also promised to absolve the Great Fox's debts," Fox said, crossing his arms. "But this isn't even about the pay. I just have to speak with you."

Ricky groaned and turned back into the room. The door wasn't open enough for Fox to be able to tell what was going on, but a few seconds later, Ricky came back and completely left the room, joining Fox in the hallway. "Follow me," Ricky said. The canine seemed hurried as he led Fox down a combination of corridors. "In here," he said as he slipped into a room.

Fox entered and Ricky quickly shut the door behind him. Bright white light seemed to bounce off of everything - off the multitudes of computer monitors lining the wall, off of the binders in the cabinets, off of the tables cluttered with paperwork. Fox couldn't imagine how anyone could work productively in here. The other canine sat at a desk behind a monitor and glanced up at Fox. "So," he began, a light smile forming on his muzzle. "What did you need?"

Ricky's expression worried Fox that he was going to try to game him into coercion. "I need to know everything about this Aparoid business."

The smile didn't move off of Ricky's face. "You already figured it all out, Fox. We're just making nanobot tech and one-upping our competitors."

"You're leaving a hell of a lot out."

"Not really." Still smiling. "I think you're overreacting."

Fox felt himself grinding his teeth as he moved closer to Ricky. "You wouldn't be alive right now if it weren't for me. You wouldn't be able to abuse this Aparoid technology for your own gain if it weren't for me." He knelt down to meet Ricky on eye-level. "I think I'm adequately reacting."

Ricky's chair squeaked as he leaned back in it. "What are you going to do if you don't get your way right now, Fox?"

Fox stared into Ricky's eyes. "Call the police."

"You won't."

"Don't play games with me, Ricky. If your secret got out, you'd be executed and Space Dynamics would go under."

Ricky exhaled and leaned forward into Fox's face, to the point where Fox could feel his warm breath on his muzzle. "I think you're the one playing games with me McCloud. And you won't go to the police. I have much more clout in this city than you do."

Fox scoffed. "More clout than Fox McCloud?"

"Actually, yes." Ricky turned away, booted up his computer, and began rummaging through his cabinets. "Everyone may love you, McCloud, but keep in mind who the multi-millionaire here is. Senators like to talk to you? Senators _have_ to listen to Space Dynamics. Interplanetary travel works because of Space Dynamics. Intermodal transport works because of Space Dynamics. Businesses thrive because of Space Dynamics and the Lylat System operates because of Space Dynamics. You expose my plans to make all of these processes work quicker and cheaper, and all you do is make me a hero."

"No one will think you're a hero if you're harvesting the creatures that murdered people's families." Fox felt himself clutching his fists as he stared into Ricky's eyes. "Sugarcoat it all you want, but your plan is insane, immoral, and dangerous. And I don't think _you_," Fox said this, pushing his finger into Ricky's chest, "have nearly as much clout as you think you do. Space Dynamics? Sure. But you're a research director. You're not as great as you think you are."

"I'm _the_ research director, Fox." Ricky started typing away at his computer before turning back to Fox. "And you're only a third right. Insane? Yes, my plan's insane, and people may not be the most receptive at first. Immoral and dangerous? You couldn't be more wrong. Remember the advent of nuclear technology? Greenthink and all of those organizations were in a clamor talking about how dangerous nuclear explosions were, how we didn't know how to dispose of nuclear waste, how irresponsible it was to pass off the problem to future generations. And now look at us!"

Ricky smacked the side of his monitor. "Nearly everything in our world works on nuclear energy. And despite the rare accidents, it was always safer than the tens of coal miners who would die in shady mines each day, unnoticed. Using nanotechnology is just another step up. There will always be opponents, but it's safe and necessary. Aparoid technology is only helping us realize our goals even faster. They may have almost killed us, sure, but they're also pushing the aerospace industry forward decades in only a few months! This is going to be great, Fox!"

Fox wanted nothing more than to punch the smile off of Ricky's face. "Good to know that a sentient species bent on our planetary system's destruction is the exact same as a reasonable man-made technology." The sarcasm didn't invoke any reaction from Ricky, so Fox continued. "Do people's lives really not matter to you?"

"They do, Fox. That's why I'm so excited about this technology!" Ricky pulled up diagrams on his monitor. "But since I can't sell you on the fact that this does more good than harm for the world, I'll just tell you about how safe the Aparoids themselves are."

"Current nanotechnology is good, but primitive. Nanobots need to be able to communicate to each other when change occurs and need to be able to solve any problem that faces them as a unit, but their current communication has flaws. Most nanotech companies have essentially two avenues to choose to solve the problem - aural nanocomputers and visual nanocomputers. The former is far cheaper but less efficient. They didn't transmit to each other enough information to be effective on hearing alone, so we saw entire percentages of them being lost after something as simple as a mechanical ship repair. The latter is impractically inexpensive. No one has the money to install fiber optic cameras onto every piece of nanotechnology, so it's not even worth attempting."

"What we'd want behavior like a perfect colony of ants. Everyone works for the queen. No one wanders on their own. Everything is for the hive. And that's where the Aparoids came in. After analyzing their core memories, we realized that yes, they were bent on murdering people much like worker ants are bent on collecting food. But that's a biological program in their brain that we can turn off. We can also extract the aspects of their behavior that we want, like their unification. Aparoids are 100%, completely unified, and suddenly the aural nanobots that every company was struggling with are completely profitable."

"All we're doing," Ricky said, with a sigh. "is infusing some of the behavioral patterns of the Aparoids into our already existent aural nanotech. That's it. It's completely safe, and completely reasonable."

Ricky sounded so confident in himself. Without context, the explanation sounded reasonable enough. But each time Fox heard the word Aparoid, it brought back a slew of emotions, of fear, of tension, that he'd rather not relive. And he still didn't believe the canine. "If this nanotech is safe," Fox began, reaching into his pocket, "mind explaining this?"

He pulled out the syringe filled with orange substance that he looted from the A-Tac building. It was the same orange substance that sprayed in the halls of the warehouse and seemed to neutralize the nanobot cloud. Ricky didn't seem at all fazed by it. "It's a phage. The nanotechnology never acts on its own volition, but it will occasionally get stuck in loops. Programming errors. The steroid will just inhibit their movement, and if enough is applied, it will destroy them."

Before Fox could notice, Ricky grabbed Fox's arm and swiped the syringe from his grasp. "And if you don't mind, I'd like to keep this."

"The hell?" Fox couldn't believe any of this was happening. "Ricky, I'm telling you, this is isn't safe. I nearly died in that building."

"From the nanotech? Nonsense. All they could do was follow you around. A-Tac wasn't even close to programming them to perform any tasks."

To be fair, Ricky was answering all of his questions. But Fox still felt as if something was creeping up inside of him. The prospects of this man getting away with harboring Aparoids disgusted him, and he couldn't think of much more he could say to convince Ricky to do anything. But then he finally remembered. "Why the hell are so many missing, then?"

"What?"

"When I was in the warehouse, a bulletin listed some of the nanotech as missing. About 14%, I think."

"Oh, that." Ricky pulled up a diagram on his monitor that showed the entire Lylat system. "I was worried about that too, but after we confiscated the materials of their warehouse, we were able to track down every single piece of Aparoid technology." Ricky zoomed in on the diagram, focusing on Corneria and its surrounding space. There were green spots concentrated in Corneria city, in a few other major cities on the planet, and one spot in space headed close to Corneria. "Any questions?"

Even if Fox went to the police, what could he honestly tell them that would lead to Ricky's development team getting shut down? Ricky was sitting in front of him, smug as ever and about to profit off of the very species that nearly killed him and everyone in the system, and Fox couldn't do anything about it.

Finally, Fox said, "Do you know anything about Pigma Dengar?"

Ricky frowned. "Other than his being assimilated and destroyed, not really."

Ricky had to have been lying. "Because he's calling me and sending me messages. He's alive. And if your nanotech is as great as you say it is, I wouldn't be surprised if it's keeping him alive right now."

Ricky shook his head. "That literally is not possible. Pigma essentially died twice. Once from the assimilation and once from you shooting him down. Our nanotech is great for repairing ships, but it can't keep a man alive in the ruthlessness of space."

If Ricky was lying about anything, he seemed to be concealing it well. The worst feeling Fox had was that Ricky seemed to be sincere in his beliefs that he was doing the right thing. The canine's ambition made him impossible to convince. Ricky stood up, took off his watch, and placed it into Fox's hands. "Here. I want to leave you with a gift of goodwill."

Fox raised his eyebrows. "More bribery, huh."

"Call it that if you want. I still don't want you going to the police, as if it will do anything." Ricky busted out a big, toothy grin. "But it's more of a symbol of trust, Fox. I trust you to keep this under wraps. I want the reveal to be as dramatic as possible, and that can't happen with you running around leaking information."

Fox looked down at Ricky's watch. It was a Courrier model with a brown leather strap, known for their high-end elegance. "It's encrusted with Aquinian diamonds," Ricky stated, proudly. "And it's accurate to the nanosecond."

Fox pocketed the watch. It didn't change his opinion of Ricky by the slightest, but he had the feeling that Ricky wouldn't allow him to leave the building without it. "I don't trust you, Ricky," Fox said, heading towards the doorway.

"But I trust you, Fox McCloud." Ricky patted him on the back as he opened the door to the hallway. "I trust you to keep this quiet and I swear, you won't have to worry about any of the debt on your ship."

* * *

He wished he were in space. Flying his Arwing was therapeutic; each time he took to the skies, he entered catharsis. His problems would dissolve, and his Arwing soared under his fingertips. He may not have been the best at solving his problems on the ground, but he'd be damned if he wasn't the best pilot in Lylat, and that fact gave him solace.

Except right now, he wasn't in space. He was in his car on the highway, and none of his problems were any closer to being solved. Fox flipped on the news and half-listened, but nothing really was catching his ear. Growth was increasing, reconstruction was still taking place, etc. Everything to be expected from the news after a major interplanetary disaster.

The local news segment was on next. Fox's finger was on the button to change the channel when something caught his ear.

"Local piano bar up was engulfed in flames earlier this morning. Firefighters were on the scene at Howl at the Moon on the north side shortly before noon after reports that something in the kitchen caught on fire. The fire was cleared and there thankfully no deaths, although two minor injuries occurred at the scene."

The thought came before he could place words to it. Howl at the Moon was the bar he was at last night. And if Pigma knew he was trapped in a Zonessian warehouse . . .

"After reviewing footage, police found that a cook had left on a deep fryer without attending to it. Moral of the story here? Pay attention in your kitchen."

Nonsense. It was just circumstance. Knowing Pigma, he would try to meet Fox face to face. The pig wasn't smart enough to terrorize Fox, and he wouldn't let him if he tried.

* * *

Regardless if Ricky said he trusted Fox, Fox didn't return the feelings. His distrust led him to the Cornerian City Police Department, an unimpressive brick building on the outskirts of downtown. Asking to see the Chief of Police wasn't nearly as much of an ordeal as asking to see Ricky was, and after a few short moments, the attendant at the front desk pointed him to a small office in the building.

The door was already open, but Fox knocked out of politeness. "Mr. Keith?"

The old German Shepherd glanced up from his newspapers and eyed Fox. The wrinkles on his muzzle didn't help hide his age, but the warm smile that erupted seemed to shave off ten years. "Fox McCloud, it's a pleasure," he said, standing to shake Fox's hand. "And call me Richard." The shepherd reminded him a lot of Peppy; despite the stress lines under his fur, he remained warm and welcoming. "How've you been?"

Fox waited for him to sit before he took a seat himself. "Alright. If it's not too much to ask, I have a favor to ask of you."

Richard smiled. "Never one for small talk, are you?" Fox could only smile and shrug in response, so Richard continued. "It depends what the favor is. Shoot it out."

As Fox rubbed the Courrier watch on his wrist, he felt a bit ridiculous. He almost felt guilty, accepting a bribe and turning the man in anyway. "Do you know Ricky Von Spitze?"

"Sounds familiar."

"He's a head of research at Space Dynamics. I have reason to believe that he's operating . . . I can't go into specifics, but extremely vile activities."

Richard raised an eyebrow. "How vile?"

"You-would-want-him-castrated-if-you-found-out vile."

"That's not language I'm used to you using."

Fox shrugged it off. "I'll be honest, I want him behind bars, but I don't think he's done anything technically illegal. But I think it would be in everyone's best interests if he wasn't a free standing member of society. If you could dig up anything on his past, anything suspicious, that could get us closer to locking him up, I'd really appreciate it."

Richard clasped his hands and brought them to cover his muzzle. He looked contemplative, but his stare reminded Fox of childhood, when he'd ask James for something and his father was thinking of the best way to say no. Finally, Richard opened his mouth. "I won't ask why you won't give me the details of this man," he said. "I trust that you're not using your fame to off people you don't like."

Fox winced at his wording. Maybe Ricky did convince a part of Fox, because that part of him thought he might have been overreacting at the entire situation.

"I'll tell you this," Richard continued. "I'd like to help you, but we lost so many of our brave men and women during the Invasion that our police forces are weak and sparse. Truthfully, we aren't able to keep up with the surge in crime after the war. But I can look into it personally."

Fox's ears sank back into his head. "Don't worry about it," Fox said. "It's not a big deal."

Richard gave him one of those fatherly, inquisitive stares again before smiling and finally saying, "I have a feeling you're leaving out more than you're letting on."

Fox sighed and let out a weak smile himself. "To be honest, I was going to ask you of another favor, but it's nothing."

"Don't pity us, Fox. Sure, we're facing hard times, but we owe you and your team a lot." Richard leaned back in his chair. "I have no qualms with helping you out."

"It's not even a problem anyway." Fox knew he was lying, but the alternative was stressing out Richard for no reason and confessing to a problem that he knew the local police force wouldn't be able to handle. "I can deal with it myself."

"Fox McCloud," Richard said, now crossing his arms and still smiling.

"Alright, fine." Fox thought for a few seconds, staring at a ballpoint pen on the desk and wondering how to most delicately put it when he decided with, "I think Pigma Dengar is following me."

Richard's eyes widened, and Fox continued. "Someone's been sending me cryptic messages for the past week, at midnight each day. I had a friend decode the voicemails, and it was definitely Pigma's voice. I know Pigma's voice. I have no idea how he's alive or where he's at, but he's here and he's looking for me."

"What would you like us to do about it?"

"That's why I didn't want to ask." Fox left out the, "There's not much you can do."

Richard seemed to understand, and he just nodded. "We'll be on the lookout for any suspicious activity around the city. Don't hesitate to contact me if you need anything else." He paused for a bit. "But since you've been asking me favors, I have a favor to ask of you."

"Sure."

"It's Star Wolf."

Fox kept his tail from twitching at the name.

"Their preliminary hearing is in a few days, and I'm under a lot of pressure to do everything. Your friend Peppy advises me that absolving their crimes is a good idea, and I'm inclined to agree. Of course, it doesn't look good on my record. My opponents are always berating me on how I'm a spineless shell of a man who's weak on crime."

The Cornerian City Chief of Police position was one of the few in the system that was appointed, not elected. "You don't have to worry about them running you out of office."

"True. But I don't care about the politics. I want to know the truth, and I trust you the most." The older canine glanced up at Fox, staring into his eyes. "Can I trust Star Wolf?"

Fox answered almost immediately. "Yes."

Richard sighed. "I want to, but it's difficult. It's difficult convincing the opposition—and my own defense—that their behavior will change at all, considering they've already broken from their house arrests numerous times."

"That's where Ricky comes in," Fox said, and Richard raised an eyebrow at this. "Star Wolf, our team, and another were contracted by them to stop pirates from raiding their ships. That's where I learned much more than I would have liked about Ricky." Fox exhaled, wondering how to say the next part. "I can't honestly speak for Leon and Panther, but I assure you Wolf's behavior has changed. He's not going to be committing crime anymore."

Fox wasn't completely sure what he meant by that, but he continued. "And the other times Wolf left his house, he was with me. One time he was doing groceries. The other, we got drunk. If that's illegal, then you better lock me up as well."

He thanked Richard for not questioning the bitterness in his voice. "I'll trust you, Fox," he said, giving him another smile. "And I want to still help you out."

"My problems aren't that—"

"I won't pry information out of you, but I know you need something out of me. It's hard to aid you when you're so secretive." Richard grabbed a pen and flicked it between his clawtips. "Give me one concrete thing I can do for you so I can feel better about myself."

He really didn't want to ask for this because it was going to sound ridiculous. "Pigma, he's been counting down from 7 on the texts."

"Sounds like a horror movie."

He's heard that before, from Adrian. "1 came last night, but nothing happened. 0 would be in a couple of hours. Err, if it's not a bother . . . "

The canine seemed to read his mind. "I can keep you around the police station for a bit if you feel safer here."

* * *

Spending time with Richard at least calmed his nerves. The police chief tried to make the station as homely as possible, and Fox had appreciated that. Midnight had come and gone, and Fox, after some persistence, convinced Richard that he'd be fine, and thanked him for the stay.

The drive back home was uneventful. After the past days of sleeping on a warehouse floor, on a lumpy air cruiser mattress, and in the backseat of a car, Fox's body ached for the comfort of his own bed. His tires crunched against wet gravel as he slowed down to park at his apartment complex. He yawned, stretching his tail out as he shut his car door. The thoughts of anyone following him seemed ridiculous now.

One of the perks of living in an upscale gated community near downtown was that all of the apartment tenants were rather respectful. As he walked through the archway into his apartment and past other doors, he was reminded of the months after the Lylat Wars when he thought it was intelligent to room with Falco in some cheap apartments off the river. If it wasn't the bird's drunk head yelling in the middle of the night, it was his neighbors. As Fox turned right and up the steps to his apartment, he noticed how refreshing it was to live in near silence.

He smelled it first. He was so used to his own vulpine scent that it was very noticeable when it changed. It was bitter, pale, like concealer. He reached for the doorknob and felt a shiver rush through him when the dampness touched his hand, yet it hadn't snowed or hailed any—

_Fuck. _Fox reached for his phone and flipped on the backlight, looking at the time reflecting back at him in bold, white characters.

_**12:51.**_

_**1**__** missed text message**__**.**_

_Of course it's him__._ Fox sprinted back to his car and fumbled around for his keys. _Of all times to leave my blaster off me. _His hands felt something. He yanked his keychain up and tried to press the unlock—damn it, the alarm. _He definitely knows where I am now._

He shut off the alarm and unlocked his car with a click, but he felt a tingle down his spine. Like someone was watching him. He shifted his balance and bent slightly, his weight prepared to lurch over and jab the person behind him.

Something rustled in the distance. Fox pivoted around and snarled. Nothing he saw was moving. Keeping his eyes fixed forward, he reached his arm back to open his door. Crawling in, he closed it and moved to the backseat floor, where there was a compartment in the left seat.

His blaster. Fox grabbed it - holding a firearm made him feel safer. And now that he was lying down, he had time to think. _There was no way he could be inside my house__, but where else would he check on midnight of the last day?_

He checked the messages on his phone. The latest, surely enough, was at 12 AM, and it read _**0**_. Expecting gibberish, he put the phone to his ear to check his voicemail, but there was nothing . . .

. . . and then the harsh ring of something breaking. _This is enough._ Fox turned the safety off his blaster and slowly opened his car door. As he shut it, he sprinted through the archway into his apartment and put his body against the wall near his door. _That smell._ He reached for the door, turned the knob, and kicked the door open, bracing himself against the wall again.

No shots. Concealer wasn't supposed to have a scent, but the lack of Fox's own musk made his nose turn up. He nudged along his door and flicked on the light switch. One bulb flickered and shattered, but his ceiling light was still on. He quickly shut the door and locked it, pinning himself against the wall and aiming his blaster forward.

Looking for another person, it took him a few seconds to notice that his house was a complete mess. His bookshelf was overturned, with pages and books strewn on the floor. Something liquid was splashed over the carpet. Glass shards laid everywhere. He glanced over to a nearby picture barely hanging on the wall, one of a ten-year-old Fox at the entrance gates to Cornerian Flight Academy, hugging his dad—

_ James's face was cut out of the picture._ Squinting to the other side of the room, the picture with a baby Fox in his parents' hands—his dad's face was cut out of _that _picture.

_ Pigma Dengar had to have been in my house. Pigma Dengar was in my house._

_ Pigma_—

A loud boom. White liquid blew up behind the kitchen counter to his left, spraying the ceiling and floor. Fox jumped back and fired a shot at the source, yelling. None of the liquid hit him, and after waiting a few seconds, he maneuvered around the glass and objects on the floor to see what had exploded. It was just a candy and soda bomb.

_He's just fucking with me._

Fox's ears twitched. For a second, he thought the sound he heard was his own jacket rustling against his fur. Yet after a few seconds of perfect stillness, he heard something, muffled and grating. Blaster pointed, Fox inched his way towards the source, and it was his kitchen phone's dial tone. He pressed the beeping light on his answering machine.

One new message. 11:59 PM.

"Hey!"

Fox swiveled, blaster facing the doorway. It was his voice, clear and unmodulated. It had only been a month, but it seemed as if every interaction with the man came rushing back in his head, and he had to snap himself back into sanity.

"Where are you, Fox?" The sounds on the answering machine sounded distant, and he heard crashing in the background. He was listening to Pigma trash his house, and _damn it _he wished he wouldn't have stayed at the police station. He should have stayed in his room, waiting, and he could have killed the swine right there. "I guess ya caught on, huh? I just wanted—" Grunting. "—to greet you! It's been a while."

The voicemail ended, and Fox stared at the machine for a few seconds before it clicked that he needed to get out. He looked at the strewn papers and broken glass, and he knew he wouldn't be able to stay here. He inched his way to his bedroom, still cautious of making noise, and took out his phone. He ringed Falco and held the phone to his ear with his shoulder.

_Ring ring_. His bedroom was also a mess, but hopefully . . . _Ring ring_. He looked for a pen or pencil of some sort, somewhere on the floor, and—_r__ing ring_—after finding one, crawled under his bed and twisted the pen in a hole in the wall. A compartment opened, and he grabbed the small silver box inside, and _God damn it, Falco needs to pick up his phone._

"Hey, sorry I'm not here but—"

Fox hung up and sat on his bed, calling Slippy instead. He glanced inside the box and enjoyed some small moment of relief. It contained old photos of his father, his first days at the Academy, his cheesy smile in front of his Arwing—at least Pigma hadn't destroyed these yet. Slippy still hadn't picked up. Fox headed out of his door, sprinted towards his car and unlocked it, and threw the box in the back seat as soon as he got in. Shaking, he managed to get his keys into the ignition.

He could call Bill, even though he hadn't spoken with him in weeks. Of course, he didn't answer his phone either. He sped out of his neighborhood, trying to find another contact on his phone. Maybe Peppy could, but the call went straight to voicemail. His phone wasn't even on. _Why wasn't anyone there?_

He attempted calling Krystal. Same result. Past his own team, Fox realized that he didn't really have friends outside of his team. Staying at a motel didn't seem safe; at that point, Fox should have just stayed at his house. As he approached a stoplight, he realized he had forgotten someone and he didn't have a choice at this point. After a short pause, he pushed the button and held the phone to his ear. The phone picked up after three rings.

"Took you the whole day to call?" The voice was as laced with scathing sarcasm as ever.

"Someone robbed my house. And I need a place to stay for a bit."

There was a pause. "_What?_"

Fox had hoped that'd be the end of it. "I'm asking if I can stay at your house, at least until I get something else figured out."

"Fine," Wolf said, and the call ended with a click shortly after. Fox pushed his forehead back into his seat and pulled the fur on his head.


	9. Take It or Leave It

After brooding over this and editing for far too long, I decided to finally publish this chapter. Thank you to everyone who's been reading, reviewing, and favoriting this, whether it's been from the past couple of days or if you've stuck with me for the past three years. There are only two chapters left, and they should be updated soon, so stick around. Thanks again!

* * *

_**Take it or Leave it  
**__He's gonna let you down_

Fox wasn't sure whether or not to knock or ring the doorbell, so he did both. The door resonated with a deep bass, and the doorbell chime seemed to echo through the house. Some seconds later, Wolf answered the door, and Fox felt an immediate pang of regret._ I should have just rented a hotel room._ He stared at Fox for a second, and then stepped out of the way, assumingly inviting him in.

As Fox stepped in, he wanted to say something, but he couldn't rack his brains for the right words. He couldn't exactly start off with, "Hey, thanks for the favor, by the way why did you make out with me," so he stood, staring at a blank space in the wall until Wolf nudged his way past him.

The first thing he noticed was that his house didn't fit his character. Apparently this was Wolf's late uncle's house, and it was expensive looking on the outside, but he couldn't imagine anybody in the O'Donnell family living somewhere so posh. The wool rug in the entryway, the marble countertops, the leather ottoman, the _chandeliers_ — and it all brought to focus the centerpiece of the living room, a tapestry depicting grasslands, probably eastern Cornerian, hanging proudly on the wall.

Yet it all didn't add up to the man who was now walking towards the kitchen. Whatever Wolf was, uppity and pretentious weren't words that Fox would think to describe him. And now that he thought of it, it didn't even make sense that he still had possession of this house. Sure, Fox requested his father's house to not be seized, but that was after talking with multiple lawyers and hundreds of thousands of credits to the bank. He couldn't imagine what Wolf's uncle did that made him so important to where the bank preserved his home—

Wooden chair legs squeaked against the floor as Wolf sat at the counter. Fox realized he'd been thinking about property laws in silence for far too long.

"Nice place," Fox said, sitting at the counter next to Wolf. The words sounded forced, but he couldn't endure the silence any longer. Wolf glanced at him for a few more seconds, looking as if he was about to speak, but then he looked back at the counter.

"It seems . . . expensive." _And surprisingly clean_, Fox thought as he remembered his own (now destroyed) apartment. Wolf still had yet to respond, so Fox continued. "But the tapestry doesn't match."

"I fucking hate the tapestry."

Normally Fox would laugh. But the lupine still hadn't moved, and something in his voice seemed off, so he thought better of it. "Then get rid of it—"

"Why are you here?"

Wolf finally turned to meet Fox face to face, and that was when he noticed the second thing: the stench of alcohol that hit Fox's nose. "You could have stayed the night at a friends' house. Hell, rented a hotel room even."

Fox thought better than to say_ I was thinking about it_, but he wasn't sure if what he actually said was any better. "Listen, I didn't want to come here."

"And I didn't want you to show up here."

His voice was bitter, not laced with the snarkiness Fox was used to. Fox began dancing around with words in his head until he finally realized, _damn it_, he didn't want to deal with any of this. He wanted to go to sleep. He wanted to kill Pigma. He wanted to punch Ricky in the face. And he wanted to forget that this, thing, whatever it was, with Wolf ever happened.

"Well, I'm here," Fox said. "And I need a place to sleep for the night. The couch is fine."

Wolf stared at him for a few more seconds, muzzle taut. Finally, he made the motions to stand up from the chair, but he stopped himself and looked back at Fox. "So we're going to pretend nothing happened last night?"

_Damn it_. "My house was robbed, Wolf. I'd really rather not deal—"

"With me?" Wolf scoffed, his face still deadpan. "With your sexuality?"

The tension in the room was so palpable Fox could cut it with a butterknife. "Wolf," he started, "I'm not gay."

Wolf forced a laugh. "Right. Tell me then, who was the furry little orange vulpine kissing me last night? Because it certainly wasn't Fox McCloud."

"Please, don't flatter yourself. I was drunk."

Wolf's eyes lit up, and he leaned in closer to Fox, bringing the corners of his muzzle up into a smirk. It was the first sign of expression he'd made thus far, and Fox wasn't certain where it was leading. "So . . ." Wolf said, drawling out the word in a low rumble. "You're telling me those moans, the panting, you begging me not to stop — that was all fake? Since you were drunk?"

Fox knew he was being baited into saying something stupid, so he kept his mouth shut. Wolf kept staring until it was beyond uncomfortable, then snatched Fox's shoulders and started pushing him off the chair. Reflexively, Fox struggled back, but he couldn't budge the heavier man off of him, and before he knew it he was laying flat on his back with Wolf straddling him, his muzzle an inch from his own.

"You're telling me," Wolf continued, still smirking, "that you let me pin you down so easily because it _doesn't_ turn you on?" Fox pushed his arms up to force Wolf off of him, but the lupine's grip was strong. A hazy scene of drunk Fox kissing the man now empowering him kept playing in his hand, and Wolf's grip and scent made the image impossible to shake off. He had to literally bite his tongue to make sure his voice didn't betray him now.

"Because it made you go wild last night." He couldn't bring himself to deny the words. He could hear only his own breathing and see the thrashing of Wolf's tail. The man's eyes almost looked hungry. Drunk Wolf was acting reckless, which shouldn't have really been a surprise, and, in all fairness, drunk Fox was probably even more reckless. But now with the man's breath brushing across his face, Fox wasn't sure if he could keep_ sober_ Fox from being just as reckless.

"Get off of me," Fox said.

He felt the grip on his shoulders relax, and Wolf's smile deflated a little. "Don't be coy, Fox," Wolf said, and Fox's memory of his drunk self saying the exact same words made his fur prickle everywhere.

"Christ, what do you want from me?" Fox yelled. "I need a place to sleep; I don't need to be interrogated."

"I just want you to admit—"

"Admit what? That it's only been a day, and I can't look at women anymore without questioning myself?"

He yelled it to get Wolf to shut up, but it took him a second to notice it was exactly what the lupine wanted to hear. Wolf pushed himself onto his knees, still looking over Fox, and began to laugh. Fox propped his weight onto his elbows. Any other day, and Wolf's low chuckles would have made Fox laugh himself. But right now, all it did was piss him off. "Fuck you, Wolf."

Wolf glanced down, then suppressed even more snickers. "I'm sure you'd love to, Fox."

"Stop acting so damn superior. Last I checked, you're the one that's pinning another male down."

Wolf raised an eyebrow. "Well thanks, Captain obvious. Except I've known I was gay since forever. You're the one in denial."

"I'm not . . ." Fox started, but he couldn't finish the sentence. "Damn it, this isn't exactly the best time for me to be dealing with any of this."

"Didn't realize reassess-my-sexuality day was already planned in Fox McCloud's calendar."

"It wasn't. And neither was have-a-crazed-stalker-break-into-my-house day, but look where I am now."

Wolf's smile faded, and he tilted his head. "Who's stalking you?"

Fox nearly said _Pigma_, but the harsh ringing of his comm cut him off. At any rate, the last thing he needed was Wolf's sympathy. "It's nothing," he said, reaching into his pocket for his phone. He pressed it to his ear before glancing at Wolf, who took the hint to get off of Fox and stand up. "Hello? Isn't a bit late to be calling?"

There was a pause, and Fox realized he forgot to check the caller ID. He sighed in relief when he heard the familiar, accented voice. "Figured you'd be awake," Ricky said. "Listen, I need to remind you about something."

Fox could feel the condescending tone from the man's voice seeping through the phone. "What is it, Ricky?" he said, and at that Wolf's ears perked up.

"I vaguely remember a conversation where I asked you to trust me." Ricky's voice was slow and exaggerated. "Where I asked you to keep my operation under wraps. I vaguely remember being so nice as to even give you a personal gift of mine, correct?"

Fox felt a sinking feeling in his stomach that he knew where this was heading. "Just remember that," Ricky continued, "because next time you go blabbering to the police, there will be consequences."

Fox gulped. "How?"

"I. Have. Connections. Fox McCloud." And with that, Fox heard the click of Ricky hanging up. He stared at his comm for a few seconds, wondering if Richard Keith was the type of person to be so easily coerced by money or power. He couldn't think that the police chief betrayed him, yet there was no other way that Ricky could have known he told the police.

"What did Ricky want?"

Fox stood up and glanced at Wolf. "It was nothing."

"He employed me too. Hell, we were both kidnapped. I deserve to know something."

A fuzzy memory of some days ago ran through Fox's head, in which he drove Wolf to the Space Dynamics airlot, and the lupine was ranting about how suspicious Ricky was acting. Still, he was already so far into dealing with Ricky on his own, and Wolf wasn't bound to help much. He didn't want to drag him into this. "It was really nothing, honestly."

Wolf crossed his arms. "What's wrong, _pup_? Can't trust me anymore?"

The way Wolf said that name made Fox wince. "I . . . err, what?" He found himself stammering. "I never could trust you. I have no idea what you're getting at."

Wolf's face didn't change, but Fox noticed a slight twitch of his tail. "I thought I've been pretty clear."

"You've made it clear that you want me to ignore the part where I'm a massive military icon and be your fuckbuddy," Fox spat, "but I'll be damned if I know why."

The lupine frowned. "That's not it."

"Then what—"

"I like you, Fox."

The words hit Fox like a truck. " . . . what?"

"I've always kind of liked you," Wolf said. "Since the Academy. You were honest, respectable, motivated, and the best damn pilot in the solar system. Undeniably attractive to boot," he said with full sincerity, still staring into Fox's eyes.

"Then why . . . "

Wolf interrupted, knowing full well what Fox's thought was. "Because I was contracted to. I didn't have a choice. Why did _you_ try to kill _me_? All you had to do was kill Andross and ignore me."

Fox wanted to complain that it wasn't that simple, that Star Wolf stopped_ them_ numerous times on numerous planets and they couldn't exactly fly around them, but he kept quiet. "But then the war was over," Wolf continued. "And Sargasso happened, and the whole surviving-day-to-day thing made me forget about whatever dumb crushes I might have had. It was only because we were just now contracted on the same mission that I figured, why the hell not go for it? I'm not exactly one to brood over thoughts. But this past week definitely confirmed it."

Fox wondered how difficult it was for Wolf to admit all of that. The older lupine was still gazing at Fox, and Fox felt uncomfortable handling the eye-contact. It wasn't the answer he was really expecting, yet he wasn't sure if he was supposed to be pleased or even more worried that the attraction wasn't purely sexual. "Wolf, I . . . I don't know. That's just . . . strange."

Maybe not the best word choice. "Well, if my feelings are too _strange_ for you," Wolf said, and it was only then that Fox noticed the exhaustion on his stoic muzzle, "then I'm up for the fuckbuddy idea. No strings attached."

"I'm not really up for any idea."

"Your actions would beg to differ."

"I'm not—" Fox still couldn't finish that sentence. "Don't guilt me into this," he said adamantly, squeezing his hands and feeling his clawtips cut into the flesh. "If you're trying to make me pity you, then stop, because it isn't going to work."

Fox regretted the words as soon as they slipped out of his mouth. Wolf attempted to remain expressionless, but he failed to hide the brief glint in his eyes or the way his ears sank back into his head. And _damn it all_, he_ did _pity him. Why the hell would he say that? This rare moment of sincerity was as close to vulnerable as the lupine was going to get, and Fox didn't even consider the man's emotions.

_But do you date him just because you pity him?_

"Look, I'm sorry," Fox said, trying to backpedal. "Just . . . why are you telling me all of this?"

"I, uhh, didn't really think my plan through any farther than last night, and I _definitely_ didn't expect you to show up at my doorstep ever. So why not tell you?"

"So your genius plan," Fox muttered, "was to get me drunk, fuck me, and never talk to me again? I think I deserve a lot of dates before that happens."

Wolf's eyebrows raised. "Are you asking me to take you out on dates?"

"No." Fox inched closer to the lupine's face. Wolf's irritated stare was grating his nerves. "I'm just saying, your plan was insane, and there's no reason in hell you should have expected it to work."

"Did I really have a choice? Did you think I could have just asked, 'Hey Fox, want to go on a sexy date with Wolf O'Donnell?'"

Fox almost laughed. "At least the message would have been clearer."

Wolf's muzzle twitched. "You," he sneered, stabbing his finger into Fox's chest, "are impossible." Fox's back was pressed against the wall, and Wolf's face was inches from his. "Well I'm making myself pretty clear now. I like you, damn it."

"I know. But you had to have known there was a good chance I wouldn't like you back. You shouldn't have followed through with your stupid plan."

"I wasn't going to until you flirted with me so damn hard on Zoness."

The second truck tonight — Wolf was good at this. Fox spent all his energy on the planet worrying whether or not Adrian or other random people would see the two as dating, and he never considered how Wolf perceived his actions. But now as an image of the man just a few days ago, sitting pleased on a gondola in a Zonessian river, came back to his mind, he wondered if that was exactly it. His actions and enjoyment that day felt so subconscious and so natural. Maybe Wolf was right.

And suddenly, Fox noticed how labored both of their breathing was. He noticed Wolf panting, inches away from his face, his warm breath hitting Fox's muzzle. And he noticed the mix of scents drifting in the room — fear, uncertainty, and arousal, and he wasn't sure who that last one was coming from.

"I don't understand why you like me anyway," Fox finally said. "I'm an asshole."

Wolf sighed, and for the first time that night, gave a real, albeit small, smile. "Yeah. You are. But you're cute when you're an asshole."

Memories of Wolf now flipped through his head. An elusive enemy in a cockpit some years ago, coming close to shooting down Fox numerous times. Carefree and relaxed on Zoness, as peaceful and civilian as Fox could ever imagine him. Gasping for oxygen in Fox's arms, near death in that A-Tac warehouse. And now, drunk and beyond desperation, pinning Fox into the wall.

_And you're cute when you're frustrated._

He couldn't comprehend the thought, and he did _not_ want to say it out loud, but Wolf's eyes widened just enough for Fox to notice that's exactly what he did, and they widened even more when Fox leaned forward for a kiss.

It was the stupidest idea in the world and yet everything Fox wanted. It was everything that Fox remembered from the night before, only better now that he was sober. Wolf wasted no time in reciprocating, and his taste filled Fox's body, washing away every emotion from the past couple of days and replacing them with pleasure. He clutched at Wolf's undershirt, pulling him closer until their bodies were touching.

For a split second, he noticed himself being hoisted up into the air, and promptly set back onto an unbelievably soft couch. Warm hands ran through his neck and back, and he pulled Wolf's body tighter yet, feeling both of their frenzied heartbeats on his chest. Yet underneath the bliss, the warmth, the frenzied thumping of his heart, there was a small, irritating voice reminding himself that _this was not supposed to be happening._

His muscles froze just for a second, and Wolf must have sensed the hesitation, because he stopped moving as well. Fox opened his eyes, looking at the older canine above him stare down with contempt. He found his fingers tugging at the elastic of Wolf's boxers, which didn't scare him as much as he thought it should have. At some point during all of that, his own pants came off as well, and he was nearly naked save his underwear.

Fox let go, and Wolf pushed himself off, standing in front of the couch. Fox couldn't bring himself to make eye-contact, and if there were words to say that would rectify this situation, he couldn't find them. He hadn't the inkling of an idea what to do, but Wolf was still standing above him, crossing his arms.

Fox hoisted himself off of the couch and started to walk past Wolf, but the lupine grabbed his shoulder. Fox shook himself off, more violently than he wanted to. "I need to go to bed," he said, his throat coarse and dry.

"I've told you everything. I need to know what you want out of this."

"I don't know what I want."

Wolf ignored him. "I'm tired of you beating around the bush. If you want to leave and never see me again, that's fine. If you want to have no strings attached sex, that's fine too. Just tell me."

He could sense that Wolf left out the third option — but of course he left it out. It wasn't reasonable. Fox couldn't imagine walking down the Cornerian Tactical Center, face plastered on defense billboards, representing the Cornerian military with a (boyfriend?) on the side. Finally, Fox repeated himself, only slower. "I don't know what I want."

Wolf's tail twitched. "Say anything else but that."

Only a week ago, Krystal berated him (and broke up with him) for the same thing. He wouldn't open up and he wouldn't talk about his emotions. But what the hell else was he supposed to say? "It's the truth, Wolf. You wouldn't be pleased with anything I say. If I leave, you're pissed, if we're . . ." Fox struggled to make himself say the word, " . . . messing around, or whatever, you're still pissed—"

"Don't act like you're disgusted by it—"

"Stop, Wolf!" Fox was nearly yelling. "I'm past trying to deny it; I'm standing here in my boxer-briefs for Gods' sake. You look down and you'll see how attracted I am to you."

He said it in anger, but it was met with a hearty chuckle by Wolf. Fox couldn't help but laugh himself. Here he was, having an emotional breakdown with his former rival, and he was nearly nude. It was surreal. Wolf was still laughing, and for a second Fox felt an enormous release of pressure, like a gear finally clicked in place somewhere, and his body could function normally. Something erased his competing emotions and made him at peace, and there was an overwhelming feeling that whatever _this_ relationship was could be okay, and he could survive with it.

But that feeling was fleeting, and past Wolf's shoulder were images of Cornerian leaders berating him, of General Pepper's disappointment, of his teams' confused faces, of perpetual scowls on muzzles that he didn't even know, and of his life crumbling around him.

"I think," Fox began, his voice weak, "It would be best if I didn't see you again."

Wolf's laughter came to an abrupt halt. "What?"

"Look, I'm not going to pretend that part of me doesn't like this." Fox didn't know how to phrase his thoughts, so he just said them. "But I'm also not going to pretend that you're compatible with my normal life or that it makes any sense for me to be in any sort of relationship with . . ."

Wolf crossed his arms and finished the thought. "With the guy that tried to kill you and almost killed Corneria. Serious? You can't get past that?"

The desperation in Wolf's voice was killing him. "It's everyone else that won't get past it, Wolf. Hell, look now; everyone in Lylat is alive thanks to you, and you_ still _might not even get your petty crimes absolved."

Wolf snarled. "You're the one stuck in the past. You're Fox McCloud — you could massacre puppies and no one would bat an eye. You can do whatever the hell you want."

"Well I sure as hell don't want this." Fox tried to ignore the tension in Wolf's face. "You have no idea how hard this is for me. It's bad enough that every single important person in the system expects for me to be the perfect hero Fox McCloud. It'd be a lot easier if I didn't have to worry about a boyfriend on the side."

Their eyes remained locked. The lupine was still gazing at him with that inquisitive stare, but something changed. His muzzle relaxed and his tail stopped flicking around. An angry voice in Fox's head was shouting at him to say something, anything to remedy the situation, but he couldn't bring himself to even look at Wolf's face anymore.

"I'm going to bed." Fox attempted to say it with an air of finality, but his voice betrayed him and it came out as a whimper. He turned, heading for the staircase as quickly as his legs would allow without running. He wasn't even sure where he was going, but Wolf hadn't stopped him. The staircase winded up and Fox soon was out of Wolf's view. Last night when the Wolf's plan failed, he was cursing and punching things. Fox wasn't sure whether to be more worried now that the lupine downstairs remained completely silent.

He ended up in the second floor hallway, and headed to the first open room he saw. When he reached for the door, he noticed he'd been digging his claws into his palms, and now his paw stung when he pushed the door open.

This had to be Wolf's room; Fox noticed by the scent that hit him, foresty and masculine. A bed, a window, some cabinets, and a landscape painting of Corneria City made up the generic bedroom. Fox contemplated leaving and searching for another place to sleep, but he was already here. He laid on Wolf's bed, face down and grinding his teeth.

His own words rang in his head. _You have no idea how hard this is._ Why was he so damn idiotic? For the past month, he'd been in a perpetual state of bitterness and exhaustion, and for what? Because he felt misunderstood by people that didn't matter? Meanwhile, Wolf saved his life numerous times, lived in hellish conditions for Gods know how long, had his base destroyed by none other than Fox McCloud, and risked everything for the _chance_ to live a life of normalcy that a certain city chief justice was bound not to give him.

_He saved your life and you ruined his. Great job, Fox._

His eyes stung, and he tried desperately to hold back the moisture creeping up in his vision. His organs felt like bursting; he hated feeling so vulnerable. If Pigma came to behead him right here, Fox wouldn't even feel it past the sharp pangs of guilt in his chest. He couldn't help but slam his fists into the bed, and keep punching it, muffling his screams into the pillow.

He flopped over, exhausted, not wanting to think. He closed his eyes, trying to relax into the soft bed, but the only sensation he could perceive was Wolf's scent lingering in the room. Clutching a pillow, he stared at a strand of gray fur until he drifted to sleep.

* * *

_ Like always, the first thing he noticed was his sentience. He was stepping towards a pedestal in the center of the room, yet at the same time, he swore he was watching himself slowly amble forwards from a different perspective. On the pedestal was a gray chalice, and some sort of clear, viscous liquid was simmering inside of it. He peered in, and images of a snowy blizzard greeted him and took the place of his reflection._

_He knew what would happen next. Gripping the sides of the chalice, he plunged his face into the liquid. It enveloped him from all sides, covering the fur all around his body, and it was accompanied by heavy wind. Then the sides of the chalice turned into an aircraft joystick. The harsh wind turned into the soft breeze of reprocessed air in his Arwing. And the snowstorm that replaced his reflection now engulfed the vision in his windshield._

_Fichina. A barren, icy hell of a world._

_Straight ahead were the rest of his team, drifting their Arwings in the foggy snow. To his left would be the bipyramidal steel structure of the Fichinian Climate Control Center. And to his right would be incoming high-grade bullet shots that could sear past his shields and decimate his wing._

_Instinctively he flicked the joystick, lurching his Arwing towards the ground and avoiding the bullets. He glanced back at the sky. Analysis. Four incoming rogue ships with unfamiliar design were barreling towards them. As one zipped past where he just was, he noticed they were quicker than their own Arwing models._

_He barked commands into the comm, but in this state, he couldn't even hear himself. All sounds were muddled, and even his vision was blurrier than usual. As he pulled up to the same plane as the rest of his team, he only could feel his familiar aircraft under his hands, and he could sense an unmanageable weight on his shoulders. _The best pilot in the system. Our ace to win the war._ Here was his first real test, and if he made any mistake here, he was bound to die from the pressure alone._

_Four-on-four dogfights were nothing new. Standard practice procedure allowed their team to fight in vastly more outnumbered scenarios. Yet this wasn't a typical four-on-four, because even though he couldn't hear the voices, they were distinct enough. There was the power-crazed, loyal nephew. There was the sadistic reptile. There was the traitorous swine._

_And there was the man who was now barreling towards him. The man purported to be his rival and antithesis, the ace for Venom, and the one to challenge him for the position of best pilot in Lylat. _

_He rolled upwards to dodge more laser shots, and for the next few moments he was only reacting, diving left and right to evade incoming weapons. His shields were still in the upper 90s, but it wasn't good to stay on the defensive like this. He needed to change positions. Slamming his joystick, he made a sharp turn to his left, and the g-forces made him jerk in his seat._

_An average opponent would continue their own course forward and would allow him to get into the opponent's flight path, letting him take the offensive. An experienced opponent—like this man—would perform a high yo-yo above him, arcing above at an angle to stay on the offensive. But as the man was now even closer on his tail, Fox smiled. While cutting the boosters, he did a sharp barrel roll under while flipping his Arwing forwards, essentially in place, but now facing the approaching opponent. _

_The maneuver was complicated enough in space flight but reached near impossible to execute in atmospheric flight. Bile crept up his throat from the sensation, but now he and his rival were almost face to face, like a game of chicken, and he knew his rival couldn't react. He launched a barrage of lasers, but he swore for a split second, he saw a glint of a smile on the lupine's face._

_Then the man's aircraft spun around and under him. How nimble were these aircraft? Even though he was on the offensive now, like he wanted, the man shouldn't have been able to avoid that. He shouldn't have been able to avoid any of the missiles he was now launching. Slamming the buttons on his control panel didn't force the missiles to shoot any quicker, nor did it satiate his frustration._

_Muffled sounds came out of his comm, and someone on his team approached in for a quick flank, but the aircraft in front of him deftly avoided both of their missiles. The lupine stayed on the defensive for much longer than Fox ever wanted to and was getting hit with less. Screaming, he followed the man away from the rest of the dogfight, and towards one of the hangars of the Climate Control Center._

_Of course, he knew what would happen next. It happened every time. Some seconds before, he regained his hearing. Metallic voices of his teammates screamed at him through the comm to get away from the base before it detonated. The traitor said some disgusting remark about his father. But he ignored it. He wanted nothing more than to land and fight the lupine, to assault him for avoiding conflict so long, to beat him on the ground for besting him in the air._

_But as soon as his Arwing came into the hangar, the metal joystick under his hands began to liquify. Air rushed back into his Arwing, and he was knocked back into the empty room, panting, chalice in hand._

* * *

The cold seemed to follow him from the dream. It took a second for Fox to realize that he was so chilly not because he was still in Fichina, but because he was sleeping in an unheated January room with nothing on but boxer-briefs. The realization haunted him: he left his clothes downstairs. Hundreds of variants of the inevitable awkward conversation played in his head before he realized that his collared shirt and pants were on the floor.

At least Wolf was nice enough to bring him in his clothes despite Fox sleeping in his bed.

Clenching his teeth didn't eliminate the irritating pangs of guilt he kept feeling, but it helped. As Fox slipped on his pants and buttoned his shirt, he took the chance to survey the room, now aided by the morning light. Maybe it was the normality of the room that surprised Fox the most. Casual clothes and framed pictures on desks didn't scream one-of-the-most-wanted-men-on-Lylat, as inaccurate as that description may have been. Nothing seemed Wolf O'Donnell enough.

Fox knew better than to rummage through the man's personal belongings, but he couldn't help himself gaze at a small portrait on his desk. A small, annoyed boy with signature white tufts and violet eyes stood scowling at the camera as an older man embraced him around the shoulders, smiling. Behind them stood the signature golden arches of the Cornerian Flight Academy.

Wolf was identifiable by his facial expression alone, but was the older man his uncle or father? And what the hell happened to Wolf's family? Fox remembered his container of family portraits back in his car, and the two wolves in the picture in front of him transformed into two orange furred foxes, father and son, both grinning. Underneath the father's smile was the burden of the country. Underneath the son's smile were the harsh expectations to fill his father's shoes and continue the McCloud legacy.

Fox looked away, staring at the wall in front of him. The picture only raised more questions. Sure, the two may have rattled off drunk stories to each other, but they still didn't _know_ each other. Underneath the wall of secrecy that Fox had been keeping up from Wolf was a nagging feeling that they understood each other more than they thought. He glanced back at the picture and wondered how much of their past they may have shared. Wolf was among one of the few ace pilots of his graduating class in the Academy. Fox regretted not really ever talking to him back then — maybe everything that happened in the Lylat Wars leading up to now would have been different. Maybe Wolf would have joined team Star Fox and gotten into petty arguments with Falco every day.

_Maybe Fox would have come to grips with his identity many years sooner_.

He had to stop himself. Gazing over the rest of Wolf's desk, he didn't find anything that was as sentimental as the picture. One of Ricky's necklaces from the mission was laying on the table, and he picked it up with his clawtips. Funny it was only a few days ago — Ricky was an innocent businessman, Pigma wasn't out to kill him, and Fox finally had a relaxed semi-vacation with none other than his long term rival —

A burst of heat surged from the pendant, singeing the fur on Fox's wrist. He shook the pendant off his body and held the string of the necklace with his clawtips, examining the dangling pendant. It was a dull green in the air, but when he placed it closer to his left hand, it shone brighter. Some seconds passed before he realized that _obviously_ the man obsessed with Aparoid nanocomputers would infuse the technology in everything. Ricky's Aparoid lecture rang through Fox's ears. They relied on aural communication . . .

Shit, his watch was bugged. Richard never ratted out Fox; Ricky simply had too much time on his hands and listened to everything Fox had done, including a hell of a lot more than Ricky ever needed to know. That privacy invasion couldn't have been legal. Fox's fury led him to the door, and he grabbed the door handle as he pocketed his necklace — and the searing pain hit him again. His right paw felt like it was on a stovetop, and he yanked everything out of the carpet. The necklace and his comm hit the carpeted ground with a thud.

His heart skipped a beat. The nanocomputers were in his phone too; how else would he sending messages so cryptically? Pigma knew where he was when he was captured by A-Tac, he knew when he wasn't at home, and he knew that he was at Wolf's house _this very second._

He picked up his phone and the detector and sprinted down the stairs as fast as his legs would allow, but before he could get to the bottom he stumbled. A burst of sound and light exploded and enveloped his senses, and the ground was shaking beneath him. Fumbling, he managed to hold onto the wall until the rumbling ended. When his vision came back, he could at least tell that the house remained intact.

Footsteps approached him. Wolf appeared around the corner with scratches on his leg. "Fox," he started, "do you know what the hell that was?"

"Where did the explosion come from?"

"My backyard."

Fox peered behind him to see dirt and grass thrown up all around the windows. It wasn't safe to chalk this up to coincidence. If Pigma had really blown up the bar last night, it was very possible he was planting everywhere Fox went. "Do you have a car?" Fox asked.

His phone started to ring, but it could wait. Staying here wasn't safe, but if he was being tracked by both Ricky and Pigma, Wolf couldn't leave with him. "My uncle has one in the garage, but other than last night, I haven't driven anything in six years."

"You're smart; you can figure it out." Fox knew he wouldn't be pleased with his (lack of an) explanation, but he couldn't say much more without involving him in this entire fiasco. "You need to leave, and don't tell me where you're going."

"This have to do with Ricky?"

There was a good chance Ricky lied in his explanation of the nanotech yesterday, but if he didn't, then the canine could only hear him right now. Fox nodded, then said, "No. Leave, and don't tell me where you're going."

His damn phone was still ringing. Wolf's expression was a mix of confused and angry. Fox pointed at his watch, then at his ears, and mouthed the word, "Bugged." Wolf's muzzle twitched. "I'll explain later."

"You'll explain now. If someone's planting bombs in my house, I'm going to be dead wherever I go."

Fox shook his head. "It's for me. And we need to _both_ leave before we _both_ die."

Harsh ringing barraged his ears — he couldn't keep ignoring his phone. The caller ID was blank, but it was probably going to be one of two people, neither of whom he wanted to talk to. He put the phone to his ear and yelled. "What the hell do you want?"

"Don't hand the phone over. Don't turn on speakerphone. I can hear everything."

Fox didn't respond. It had been weeks since he talked to him directly. The voice chortled, and then spoke in a childish drawl. "Oh, Fox . . ."

"Oh, P—"

Another blast shook the room. Fox shielded his face as he fell back, leaning against a wall that shook against his back. It seemed to be on the brink of collapsing, but when he looked back up, everything indoors remained intact. "I wouldn't finish that name, if I were you. He shouldn't have to know."

Fox glanced at Wolf, who was staring at him intently. "What's your problem?"

"I don't have a problem. What gave you that idea?"

"I don't know; maybe you rummaging through my house and blowing up wherever I go gave me that idea."

"Oh!" The fake surprise was too much to handle. "That's just because it's funnier this way, Fox. I could have killed you at any time I wanted, but then I thought, that'd be too easy. I want to see your face in pain. I want to see your face as you watch everyone you care about die."

"Like hell that's going to happen."

"Oh, but won't it, Fox? I have no qualms with killing him — I was going to do it anyway. The smug bitch pisses me off. And while I don't particularly have issues with your team, they can die too."

"You," Fox started, "are not touching anyone."

"I wouldn't test me, McCloud. Right now, I push one button, and I blow up that house and kill Wolf."

"But you wouldn't kill me." He knew it was bold to say, but Fox was sure he called the bluff. The man was too sadistic to let Fox die here; if he was going to kill him, he'd want to do it in person. Like hell he'd go through all the trouble of creeping Fox out and sending him messages without getting to see the pain on his dying face. "You're not going to terrorize me. And I'm going to kill you, Pigma."

A pause. And then suddenly the voice changed from playful to exasperated. "You shouldn't have done that, Fox."

The phone clicked off. Fox flinched, waiting for the next explosion, but nothing happened. He desperately didn't want to meet Wolf's eyes now, but he had to.

"Pigma broke into your house," Wolf started, "and you couldn't tell me?"

"I didn't want to involve you in my problems."

"Look outside," Wolf said, throwing his arm back. "I'm already pretty fucking involved."

Fox bit his lip. "I need to deal with this myself."

"Clearly you can't. Stop being so damn secretive."

"Maybe I'm not a fan of people dying in my arms!" Fox roared, standing up. Wolf's ears flattened a bit, but both of them kept their determined stares, and the silence gave time for Fox to calm down. "Just . . . do you trust me?"

He knew it was an unfair question and probably a futile attempt to get Wolf to listen. But all of the stars and planets in Lylat must have aligned, because for some unknown reason, Wolf nodded.

"He should only be able to track me. You'll be fine." Fox attempted to muster all the conviction he could in his voice. "I can find him and kill him. If you just leave here, I'll . . . talk to you when this is all over."

The silence was deafening, and the air seemed to sit still. Wolf opened his mouth, his countenance strained as if he was attempting to find something to say, but he eventually just grunted in response and walked to the garage. Soon, after hearing the garage door chug open and closed, Fox was left alone in Wolf's house.

There was only one place to go now.


	10. One Way Trigger

One chapter after this one, and it should be up in about a week.

* * *

_**One Way Trigger  
**__Show me a better plan_

"Police are investing reports of an explosion in a neighborhood on the north side of Corneria City. Calls came in at 9:04 A.M. when residents heard . . ."

The radio shut off with a click of his finger. Silence lent to better thinking anyway, and with the only audible sounds being the wind whipping around his car, Fox could mull over his options. He threw out the watch and his phone out the window a few minutes ago, and searched his car using the sensor necklace. Nothing burnt his hand in the process, so unless he missed a spot, he was now untrackable.

Ricky was going to be in for a surprise.

Some moments later, Fox found himself in the parking lot of Space Dynamics Headquarters. When he parked the car, he realized with a twinge of uneasiness that he might have to kill Pigma. If he wasn't stopped soon, it was only a matter of time before he upgraded from petty explosions and started actually hurting people. Still, even though he'd killed people during both the Lylat Wars and the Invasion, the prospects of shooting someone in cold blood left a sour taste in his mouth.

But he wasn't going to risk letting the man free. He rummaged through the glove compartment in his car, finding and opening the portrait box he stashed in there. Old pictures of his father, a perpetually cheery vulpine always grinning at the camera, greeted him.

Fox sighed. At the time he was too wrapped up into being the best ace pilot in Corneria that he didn't bother learning about the politics of the Lylat Wars until after the conflict. Yet he didn't have to understand political motivations to know that his father seemed like the best man in the world, and he couldn't understand why anyone would want to betray him. Fox paused over one particular picture, the early formation of Star Fox. James, Peppy, and Pigma were sitting in the helm of the Great Fox. He forced himself to imagine their conversations afterwards, their happy demeanor, the moment when James and Peppy knew Pigma had betrayed them and left them to die on Venom—

He slammed the box shut and marched into the front office of the building. At the counter sat the familiar feline secretary, whose face beamed when seeing Fox walk in. "Fox McCloud!" she said, grinning. "How's your day been?"

"Fine," Fox lied. "I need to find Ricky Von Spitze again."

As she picked up the phone, Fox glanced at the rest of the lobby. How many of these other people, walking in their tailored suits and chatting on their phones, knew about this Aparoid scandal? If Ricky's development team were the only people involved, maybe Fox's plan would work. But if it were the entire company?

The feline put down the phone and looked back at him, her smile fading. "He's . . . he said he was busy now, but he'd call you when he got a chance."

Fox's phone was shattered in pieces on the side of the Cornerian interstate. "That's not exactly an option for me."

"I didn't tell you this," she said, her eyes shifting, "but if you wanted to find him, he's in his office on the fifth floor. The room doesn't have a room number, but if you make two immediate lefts, go straight until the end of the hallway, and then turn right, you should find it."

"Thanks," Fox said, headed towards the elevator. If Ricky got to the point where he was actively hiding from Fox, he felt like stopping this Aparoid development shouldn't be difficult. The attendant at the desk didn't seem to know anything specific; Fox honestly expected security to escort him out. His footsteps seemed to carry him through the familiar path in the building, and soon he was knocking on the door of Ricky's office.

"I already told you, I'm sorry!" The scream from inside the door sounded more agitated than Fox was used to, but a few seconds later when Ricky slid the door open an inch, his muzzle changed to his normal confident self. "Oh," he said, "it's you."

Except Ricky wasn't quite confident. Fox noticed the twitch of his tail, the slight shakiness of his voice, and the way his body shook when Fox pried the door fully open and walked in. "What do you want now, Fox?" Ricky walked to his computer but didn't sit down, instead standing as tall as he could and staring at Fox.

"Did you think I got in a car crash?"

"What do you mean?" Ricky's eyebrows furrowed, and for a split second he broke eye contact and flicked his eyes to Fox's wrist. "Where's the watch I gave you?"

"Blew your cover, didn't you?" Fox crossed his arms. "Next time you try bugging me, don't make it so obvious."

Ricky's eyes widened for a bit, but he shook his head and swatted at the air in front of him. "No matter. Yes, I bugged you. Are you upset?"

"At the blatant invasion of privacy? Yeah, just a bit."

"And I'm upset at you trying to disclose company secrets." The confidence that Ricky typically exuded started to come back. "You aren't important, Fox McCloud. If you dare cost this company billions of credits, I'll be sure you're covered in just that much in lawsuits."

"I'm not threatened."

"Or maybe I do something more simple." Ricky smirked. "Maybe I leak some audio files that show who Corneria's cheery little hero is fucking on the side."

Everything in Fox's body flared. "Don't think for a second that you're going to blackmail me."

"Oh? Then what am I doing?"

None of this was the point of Fox's visit, and if he didn't control his temper soon he'd do something stupid that would actually lock him into lawsuits. "Pigma Dengar is following me, and he's going to kill me. If you don't help me, there's blood on your hands."

Ricky shrugged. "I already told you that I don't know anything—"

"Like hell you don't. The same Aparoid nanotech that was in my watch was in my phone as well. That's how he's been communicating with me and following me, bombing wherever I go."

Sweat glistened on Ricky's face, and for a split second it looked as if the canine felt cornered. But he shook his head and said, "Your phone must have gotten contaminated somewhere. I told you, I don't know anything about Pigma."

"You can at least track where he is, so I can kill him first."

"And why would I do that?"

Something in Fox snapped, and he yelled. "Does my life mean nothing to you?"

"In the grand scheme of things, no Fox McCloud, your life is not that important. I'm not obligated to risk this project to save your life. If Pigma actually does have a supply of Aparoid nanotech with him — and of course, he doesn't, because it's all accounted for — but even if he did, he'd be practically immortal. You couldn't kill him with conventional means."

Fox blinked. "What do you mean, immortal?"

"The great thing about my project is that while the nanotech is designed for ship repairs, no species' body is more complicated than a Dreadnought-class heavy cruiser." Ricky opened his mouth to speak more, but he shook his head — he kept doing that, like a nervous tick — and crossed his arms. "I've told you more than you need to know. I'm not helping you."

Fox couldn't help but laugh. "I'm not leaving until you help me.

"Okay." Ricky kept his stare locked on Fox. It seemed childish, but Fox knew Ricky would break down first. His tail was moving too forcefully to be natural, and he kept wiping sweat off of his face. Yet the man was persistent, and Fox began to seriously reconsider his plans. At least, if Ricky was going to keep silent, he could deal with him later and confront Pigma on his own, somehow.

The silence was interrupted by an old-fashioned ringing sound. Ricky glanced at the phone hooked into the wall, then glanced back at Fox and raised his arms. "Listen, I have to take this, okay?" Fox nodded, and Ricky stopped short of picking up the phone. "You really should leave. Neither of us have anything to gain from you being here."

Ricky placed a paw on the phone and held it there for a few seconds, hesitating. Then he pressed it to his ear and turned away. "Hello. Sorry. I said I'm sorry. Yes . . . I remember."

He presumed Ricky was getting berated by someone higher up, and while the thought was amusing, it made him worry about the scope of his Aparoid project. "No I . . . I don't know where he is."

Ricky's head slowly turned back to Fox, and when their eyes met, he saw the fear in his eyes. "Yes, I'm telling the truth. I. Don't. Where. He. Is. . . . no, _what?_ No, it wasn't overambitious, and it won't even be a prob—"

He gasped. "No, no. You promised — you fucking promised!"

The phone dropped from Ricky's hands and hung suspended in the air by its cord to the wall. Ricky opened his mouth to speak, but Fox could barely hear him over his anger, the heat now rising in his chest, the fury making his muscles tense. "Fox, help me . . ."

He gripped Ricky's collar and threw him on the ground. Ricky yelped when Fox dug his knee into his chest and clenched his fist inches in front of Ricky's face. "You were working together the whole time?"

"No, Fox, please that wasn't it." All of Ricky's usual confidence shattered and left an exposed, whimpering man. "It wasn't—"

"_You were going to have me killed?!_"

"I didn't know! And if . . . if you punch me I'm going to have you charged for assault."

Fox could only scoff. "Stop lying."

Ricky's fingers crept towards the holster on his belt. Fox clutched Ricky's wrist, slamming it to the ground and twisting it, and the man squealed in pain. "Okay, okay, I give up, just . . . Gods you have to help me Fox."

"Explain yourself."

"Our research team travelled to Katina because of reports of strange activity in one of its deserts. It was only a couple weeks after the invasion and we were expecting to find dormant Aparoids, and we did, but . . ." Ricky swallowed. "Pigma. His ship, I don't know how, it was just laying there dormant, and we thought we could extract the insects before he noticed, but . . . "

"But he woke up."

Ricky managed to nod his head. "Uh huh, something like that. Two of us on the team died, and he said that if we wanted to take the Aparoids, we had to let him free and pretend like we never saw him. We took him to Zoness."

Fox felt himself growl. "You couldn't take him into the police, or just kill him?"

"Gods we tried, and — why do you think I developed the tracking system, anyway? I wanted to make sure he wasn't just going to off me some day. But he's stayed in Zoness since, and he even called me a few days ago. Promised that if I just kept his secret and ignored him, he'd let us develop as much as we wanted."

Before Fox could open his mouth, Ricky cut him off. "Don't even act like you wouldn't do the same thing. He was going to kill us. And this is our chance, don't you understand, to make billions and billions of credits, and I wasn't going to let it slip through my fingers."

"Where is he now?"

Ricky shook his head. "I don't know . . . he'll kill me. He's going to kill me, Fox. He said I'm next, after you."

Fox couldn't believe the audacity of this man. "So you knew he was out to kill me this entire time, and you just twiddled your thumbs."

"No, I only knew it was you a few days ago, and — Christ get your fist out of my face, please — he always had beef with you anyway. I thought you could handle it; you've done it before apparently, you're Fox McCloud—"

The dull crack of Ricky's muzzle echoed in the room. Fox looked down and shook out his hand, seeing blood trickle down Ricky's nose from the punch. The hit didn't alleviate any of his aggravation; it only made Ricky whimper beneath him.

"Assault charges . . . " Ricky sputtered out.

Fox ignored this. "Help me find Pigma."

"Please, I can't . . . "

"So you'd rather wait around for us to both get killed?"

" . . . get off of me then."

As soon as Fox stood up, Ricky scurried onto his feet, panting. His eyes darted for the door for a second, and Fox was prepared to tackle him back to the ground, but Ricky slowed his breathing and regained his composure. He walked to his computer and began typing away at the keyboard for a couple minutes before looking back up at Fox. "There's no guarantee that any of these addresses are Pigma. We have a ton of crates being shipped from various plants, and I have no way to differentiate between them."

Where would a crazed murderer logically be? "List off the addresses," Fox said.

"23 Delfino Drive — but that's our processing plant an hour away from the city. This one's on the Cornerian interstate, moving south. 12 Atherton Place, 3992 Pembleton Court, umm both sound residential but they might be hotels, I'm not sure—"

"It's Atherton." Fox felt his heartrate pick up. With how Pigma destroyed Fox's pictures in his apartment, it wasn't too much of a surprise he was there. "It was my fathers old . . . _my _old house."

* * *

Fox was surprised he'd made it to the house without getting pulled over. He wasn't exactly the safest driver in the past half hour, and it took getting honked at three separate times and nearly swerving off the exit ramp for him to notice. Ricky's nervous complaints didn't help. Eventually, they arrived and parked on a hill next to the two story, secluded brick house of 12 Athernon Place.

After the Lylat Wars, his body felt unsettled each time he stepped in that home. It never felt correct sleeping alone where his family . . . used to live, and some sleepless nights later, Fox rented his now current apartment. Now, the mental connection to his old home wasn't nearly as deep, but the sight of the familiar peaceful estate stirred up uncomfortable memories.

Fox tried to focus on what he needed to do, but the only thing he could hear was the rustling of fabrics as Ricky shook in the seat next to him. "Ricky," Fox started, "call the police."

Ricky jolted his head. "What?"

"If I don't kill Pigma, someone needs to. I'm not going to let him escape from here."

"Promise me you won't say anything about my project."

This man was ridiculous. "The alternative is that we both die, if you're okay with that."

Ricky exhaled, then crept his hand into his pocket and pulled out the comm. It took him an eternity just to dial three numbers. Ricky brought the phone to his ear, but quickly dropped it after hearing the shrill, swinish shrieks coming out.

"Don't think about it! He's fighting me alone!"

The muffled noise cut off with a click, and Fox stared up at Ricky. "Damn it, what all can the nanotech do?"

Ricky bit his lip. "I should have figured. Their entire system is built around communication — if there are any stray nanobots within a pretty sizeable radius, he can intercept and control them. It's not like he can control all the technology he wants, but . . . my phone must have been contaminated, and I forgot to sterilize it . . ."

"Ricky . . ."

"I forgot to sterilize my phone and I'm about to fucking die—"

"Ricky!" Fox failed to keep himself from shouting. "Just stay here. I'll take care of him."

Ricky's eyes widened at the realization. "Christ, Fox, are you suicidal?"

Fox tried to think of some witty retort, some remark about how Ricky wanted him dead anyway, or some cliched overconfident line, but all he could think of was, "Yeah. Give me the steroid."

Ricky paused, then rummaged through his bag and took out the syringe. "Technically, it's a phage," he said. "And it's not going to work immediately. If his entire body is fused with the nanotech, it should take some minutes before they all die.

Warmth pulsed from the syringe in Fox's hands. "So what am I supposed to do, calmly inject it into Pigma's veins? Not sure that'll work over well with him."

"You're the bold one," Ricky said. "And no, just stab him anywhere. It eats away at whatever portion of nanotech it can find and rewrites their programming to self-destruct. The process isn't as fast as it should be, but it works."

The upcoming scenario replayed in Fox's mind multiple times, but for the life of him he couldn't think of how he was going to get close enough to sterilize and kill Pigma. Maybe he didn't even need the stupid phage, and maybe he could just shoot the pig — except, if he survived outer space with the help of the remaining Aparoids, there's no way in hell blaster bullets would do anything.

"Good luck, Fox."

He turned, but Ricky wouldn't meet his gaze. Whatever. He'd heard the words countless times before, and he was sure Ricky didn't mean to be insincere — after all, he didn't _want_ to die — but there was something always offputting about_ good luck_. Fox stopped himself from dwelling on that and opened his car door to the outside air. As he got out and walked the long path to his old front door, his mind kept jumping to images of his fight with Pigma. He approached the wooden double doors and got so far as instinctively putting a finger on the doorbell before he stopped himself.

What the hell was he doing? He had no idea the extent of Pigma's powers, nor what to even expect to find when he walked in. It was likely that Pigma was merely surviving off of the technology, but he wouldn't be surprised if he walked in to see a half-pig-half-aparoid-robot greeting him at the front door. Either way, he wouldn't be able to kill him. With how much Fox's emotions were in a fritz, it would be difficult focusing on the fight enough to kill a _normal_ Pigma. The zen he normally experienced in his Arwing eluded him now, leaving him with cold, nervous shivers. There was no reason to walk in the door if he could go back to Ricky's office, contact the police from an uncontaminated phone, and meet Pigma wherever his new location was.

_But the man who killed my father is holding his old home hostage, and I'll be fucked if I let him play around with me anymore._

Fox brought his finger back and clenched his fists, then kicked the double doors open. Surprisingly it was unlocked, and the doors slammed back against the wall. Walking into the house pushed a wave of memories into his mind. James loved wide open spaces, in space and in his home, so the entryway was a sprawling open room with no furniture save a maroon rug at his feet. Unlike his tarnished apartment, this house looked completely intact. He could see himself, a four year old little fox throwing his first toy fighter jet off of the balcony and smashing his mother's favorite vase, or himself falling down the stairs and having to be rushed to the hospital, or—

A beep woke himself from his reverie. Fox widened his stance and drew his blaster, searching for where the noise came from before the smell of something cooking hit him.

"Hey." The voice made Fox jump. "You know these noodles never expire? It's crazy."

Maybe it was the casualness, the way Pigma was leisurely gorging his face with a cup of instant noodles, that made Fox's blood boil. "What the hell are you doing?" Fox screamed.

Pigma blinked with his beady, yellow eyes. "Eating?"

"Cut the shit." Fox fired a blaster shot near Pigma's feet, but the man didn't flinch.

"Well it's the truth. I didn't think the bombs were cutting it. I thought I'd have to do something a bit more . . ._ theatrical _to make you come here."

"You think I wouldn't notice you camping out in my father's house?"

Fox's blaster was pointed right at Pigma's face, but he still wouldn't grace him with a reaction. "Well, we're here now." Pigma sat the cup of noodles on the ground and folded his arms. "You wanted to kill me, right?"

"You're the one following me. What were you planning on doing in my apartment anyway? Choking me in my sleep?"

Pigma laughed. "No, it would be too easy. Besides, I knew you wouldn't be there." He took a step forward and Fox tensed, tightening the grip on his blaster. "You're afraid of me."

"Not afraid, just prepared. You seem to have some vendetta against my entire family."

"I have a lot of vendettas."

"Why me, Pigma? What did James ever do to you?"

Pigma's eyes lit up at this. "Oh, you think he was the perfect hero like everyone else was? James was a smug, specieist son of a bitch. You all deserved to die a hell of a long time ago." Signs of anger crept into Pigma's voice. "You think you can kill Andross and everyone forgets how fucking awful Corneria was? Like you weren't the real enemies, the mass murderers, like you can rewrite the history books because you're the neighborhood's lovable Fox."

The shock nearly made Fox loosen the grip on his gun. "Please," he started, "you aren't intelligent enough for such grand thoughts."

Pigma chuckled. "Maybe. Maybe not. All I know is I hate hypocrites, I hate your father, and I hate you."

At those words Pigma met Fox's stare, frozen in place. The silence was deafening. Neither of them moved an inch for what seemed like a full minute, until finally Pigma jerked his hand forward, and Fox instinctively shot at Pigma's feet again.

Pigma broke out into laughter. "Shoot to kill, pussy. Didn't they teach you that in the Academy?"

Fox bared his teeth, bracing his body for another motion. Pigma kept on with his childish _don't flinch_ game, but Fox didn't react until Pigma's hand got dangerously close to the blaster on his holster. He left his hand hovering over his belt for a second, then he stopped and folded his arms. "You know, if Venom won," he said, "I would be the Fox McCloud of Lylat."

"Don't fuck with me." Fox couldn't keep himself from growling. "Take your gun out."

"No, I don't need to. You're the one that wanted to kill me, so I'll keep the tradition alive where Lylat bends over so Fox McCloud can have his way."

Why was he so damn bitter? "You're the one that's been stalking me and blowing shit up. You're the one that's wanted Corneria destroyed. You're the one that's been massacring people—"

Pigma raised his hand and shook his head. "I'll stop you right there. My mission was only to kill you. You killed how many of Venom's soldiers? How many innocent sons, husbands, and wives did you shoot down in your precious little Arwing?"

"They weren't innoc—" Fox twitched his tail, interrupting himself. "You did the same."

"Does that justify it?"

"I don't need moral justification from you, of all fucking people."

Now Pigma raised both hands behind his head as if he was turning himself in. "You don't need to justify anything. You just need to kill me."

Pull the trigger, and it's all over. "What, Fox? You can't? Come on, I betrayed your father. I'm nothing compared to the hundreds of worthless lizards and apes that you shot down and murdered."

Fox's arm was actually trembling. His mind was screaming at him to pull the trigger, to kill the man who caused him so much grief in his life, and his fingers wouldn't fucking listen. And now, if the words weren't taunting him enough, Pigma was stepping forward. He got face-to-face with Fox and lowered himself, pressing his head against the cold barrel of Fox's blaster.

"Do it."

Those words made Fox's muscles tense for some inexplicable reason. He swore he pulled the trigger, but he was stuck in place, petrified. Now Pigma laughed and pulled out his own blaster. "I knew it," Pigma said. "He's the biggest hypocrite of them all. Fox McCloud is just a grade A pussy."

Fox lowered his blaster and finally shot at Pigma's leg. The pig fell back, squealed in pain, and clutched his calf. "You're pathetic, honestly," Fox said.

"No no, you're still a pussy," Pigma said with an alarming air of calmness. Fox glanced down at Pigma's leg, and underneath his charred pants where red blood should have been gushing was a mass of purple dust particles hovering over the wound. Seconds later, they disappeared and revealed a perfectly intact leg. "The shot wouldn't have killed me anyway. But especially not when I these little guys repairing everything in my body."

Fox took a step back as Pigma rolled onto his feet, and it was just then that he noticed the faint cloud of nanoparticles hovering around Pigma. So he'd have to stab the guy with the syringe, then shoot him. Judging by Pigma's squeals earlier, the guy still felt pain despite the nanotech repairing his body. The fight wouldn't be impossible, just irritating.

"Ya' thinking about something, McCloud?"

"Wh—"

The room swirled. Pain shot through Fox's face as the kick sent him stumbling backwards. Pigma dashed forward and jabbed, but Fox regained control quickly enough to block it and throw him on the ground. The swine nearly hit the carpet face first, but he swiveled onto his back and tried to sweep Fox's legs from under him. Fox was prepared for the predictable kick, but he wasn't prepared for Pigma to spring up from the ground and jab Fox in the stomach, pinning him to the floor.

For a fat pig, he sure was nimble—

A blade glinted in the light. Pigma drove down his knife to the carpet, and Fox turned his head, narrowly avoiding it. He rolled again and — shit, it scraped his ear. Pain shot through it, and Fox strained to keep his eyes fixed on the pig laughing above him. He clutched Pigma's snout, flipped him over on the ground, and slammed his head into the carpet.

He didn't have a chance to reach in his back pocket for the syringe before he was flipped onto his back again. Pigma stood up above him, this time just shaking his head before slamming his boot on Fox's face. Something cracked. A second foot slammed into Fox's chest; all the wind was knocked out of him, and now he was deathly afraid that the pain was too much to ignore and he'd seriously injured something.

What seemed like minutes later, the kicks stopped. Fox gasped for air, but his lungs felt like fire. Why was this happening? He thought the nanotech should have only been repairing Pigma, and there was no reason for him to be this strong or fast. Now the man was walking away, still shaking his head. "If you'll excuse me," the voice said, sounding disinterested. "I have noodles to finish."

_He's really fucking with me_. Fox made his nerves shut up and forced himself on his feet. Relentless aggression was his forte in aerial combat, and he adapted it to ground fights as well. He sprinted, swung his arm back, and slammed his fist into Pigma's neck. Pigma yelped before kneeing Fox in the gut, but Fox ignored it and continued punching Pigma. He expected the next knee, so he shifted Pigma's momentum and threw him to the side.

Everything was a trade. On second thought, it wasn't the best idea to trade blows with a man who could immediately heal his injuries, but Fox didn't let himself think and definitely didn't let himself dwell on the pulsing pain throughout his body or the strange lump on Pigma's chest. He needed to find an opening. There it was. An overambitious high kick left Pigma wavering out of balance, and Fox rammed his shoulder into his back, pinning him against the wall. He took the syringe from his pocket and prepared to bury it in Pigma's neck—

"Oh no," Pigma said, his voice muffled by his heaving breaths. "I want a fair fight."

A deafening blast rang through the room, and Fox's leg seemed to turn into fire. The blaster shot made all the nerves in his body go haywire. Fox tried keeping his balance, but the pain — and the smell of singed fur and blood — nearly made him puke, and he fell over. He didn't pin Pigma's right hand earlier, and that might have costed him his life.

It took Fox some seconds for him to see, with horror, that the syringe was laying halfway across the room. He scurried to get up, but tripped over himself. None of his bones should have been broken, but the pain was too much to stand on. Pigma let out a disgusting laugh and sauntered over to the syringe, picking it up and twirling it around in his hands. "Come on, play fair. We both don't have much time left."

Fox mustered all the strength he could to talk. "What the hell does that mean?"

Pigma actually fucking snorted. "You didn't notice? You're out of it, Fox."

Fox racked his brain. It could be Pigma still messing with him, but Fox sensed he should have noticed something wrong. His behavior, his unnatural speed — but his mind couldn't piece together a coherent thought before Pigma scowled, and the excitement in his eyes turned into disappointment. "Your friends are here."

_Friends?_ Seconds later, Fox heard the distant sounds of police sirens, then the stampede of combat boots hitting the ground. Glass shattered behind him and the room erupted into a cloud of gray smoke. Unable to even see his hand in front of him, Fox struggled to force himself to stand. The pain in his right leg was still unbearable, and practically all of his weight was on his left, but at least he was on his feet.

When the smoke cleared, what surprised Fox more than the sheer number of police officers with their guns pointed at Pigma were the familiar faces. Richard Keith stood with his arms crossed and a tired smile on his muzzle. Standing next to him was the young snow leopard Adrian, shaking his head. And the person keeping Pigma restrained with a syringe of orange phage buried deep in his neck was none other than Wolf O'Donnell.

He couldn't fathom how the police knew to come to this secluded house, or how or _why_ in the hell Adrian or Wolf were here. His mind could only focus on what Pigma said earlier.

"You know, Fox McCloud . . ." Richard's old, calm voice, albeit quiet, was easily audible over the rustling of weapons and the cursing of Pigma. "You ought to ask for help more often. For once, it's not _you_ saving _our_ lives."

Adrian chuckled at this. Fox tried to piece together his words. "How . . . how are you guys . . . here?"

"Wolf practically broke into my house," Adrian said. "Said two people were trying to kill you and asked if I knew what the hell Ricky was up to. We called the police, called Space Dynamics, and we were at a dead end, so eventually I found Ricky's cell and just tracked it. And Wolf convinced them to come along." He flicked an ear to an officer next to him. "Wasn't the most uhh, legal thing I've done, but hey."

He should feel safe. Fox watched Pigma, who now looked resigned. The effects of the phage seemed to be getting to him already. The purple cloud disappeared, bruises appeared on his body where there weren't before, and he even looked an inch or two shorter. Fox made eye contact with Wolf but his expression was unreadable. He _should_ feel safe. But—

Pigma smiled. Fox felt his heart sink. Pigma didn't need to lift up his shirt for Fox to know would be underneath it: a thin black explosive belt strapped to his chest.

"Is this what you wanted, Fox?"

A suicide bomb.

A horrid, gutteral scream rang out in the hall, and Fox was ambushed by the stampede of police footsteps. Someone — Richard — yanked him backwards and tried pulling him out the door, but Fox fought him off.

"Get out of there, Fox!"

But in front of him, Pigma was straddling Wolf, choking him. He didn't think. His body shut out the pain, sprinted forward, and kicked Pigma to the ground. The pig clutched his leg and now they were both tumbling on the ground, limbs flying out. Fox couldn't believe he didn't register that _that_ was what he felt earlier.

"Wouldn't it be fitting if we all died here tonight?" Pigma's hands were at his throat, and Fox kicked him off — damn it, his leg hurt. Even injured, Fox had the upper hand in the fight. Without the nanotech, Pigma's movements weren't nearly as responsive, and he knew it. The pig backed against the wall with his hands raised, but something was in his left hand.

Pigma's voice came out in a hoarse whisper. "I can detonate myself at any time, you know." It was maniacal, but Fox stopped trying to understand the man's motivations.

"You wouldn't."

"That's a big gamble, Fox McCloud."

Each step was hell. Insurmountable, painful hell, but Fox had never sprinted faster in his life. It even took Pigma by surprise, and his beady eyes widened when Fox was now pinning him against the wall, clutching his throat, and holding his blaster directly under Pigma's neck pointed at his skull.

Whatever was in Pigma's hand dropped to the ground with a small clatter. Pigma sighed and shook his head. "You won't do it. Son of James McCloud, but you're just as much of a pus—"

He pulled the trigger. He kept pulling it. The harsh bangs of his blaster were accented by soft, comical splats of Pigma's blood staining the walls and his clothes. Fox didn't dare hesitate to think about what he'd just done, or if the phage had enough time to kill the Aparoid nanotech, or if Pigma's belt would still detonate. Turning his head, he saw Wolf gasping for air, struggling to stand up, and he ran.

At any point he could have sworn his leg would shatter underneath him, but he didn't stop. He grabbed Wolf, hobbled him out of the house, and ended up outside. Police sirens greeted him, and as the cold January air hit his face, the adrenaline washed out of his body. He was exhausted and in pain, and he collapsed down the porch on top of Wolf.

Despite his own leg feeling like it would fall off and his mind spinning so much he could go unconscious at any second, Fox couldn't think of anything to say other than, "Are you okay?"

"Just couldn't really breathe." Fox felt a paw rest on his shoulder, and he became faintly aware of Wolf's chest rising and falling as he took breaths under him. "Try asking for help next time."

_Damn it._ Fox looked down to meet one violet eye and one gray eye staring back up at him. Wolf's expression wasn't even disappointed — he swore he could have seen the faint hints of a smile curling at the corner of Wolf's muzzle. Fox needed to say something, but every time he opened his mouth to speak, his throat tightened. His eyes stung, and despite his best efforts to keep him from embarrassing himself, he sobbed into Wolf's shoulder. Pathetic, he knew, but he couldn't help himself. He wished he could chalk it up to the pain of getting shot in the leg.

He wasn't sure how long he'd lain there until he realize there was still a live bomb in the house and he ought to distance himself from it more. Police had yet to approach them, or at least had yet to see them. He struggled to prop himself up onto his feet, but the moment he shifted weight on his right foot, pain seared through his body and he fell back over. "Wolf," he managed between breaths, "I can't get up."

"My turn." He felt himself get hoisted in the air, and moments later he was laying in Wolf's arms as he walked to the police. His eyes still felt puffy, but he managed to regain his composure before approaching the hoard of police cars. Richard Keith stood in front of one of them, and behind him was Ricky Von Spitze's familiar whining.

"I didn't know him! I wanted Pigma dead too! Please, it's just a development project!"

Richard ignored him and looked at Fox and Wolf. "Thank you, both of you." His smile seemed genuine, but Fox couldn't help but remember that Richard tried pulling Fox out of the house and leaving Wolf to die with Pigma in the explosion.

As if on cue, a fiery boom erupted behind him, and a quick glance confirmed that it was his old home erupting in flames. He closed his eyes and heard calls for firefighters and an arson unit. He'd accepted that he could never return to his idyllic childhood when he set out in the Lylat Wars, but it didn't make watching his past burn in front of him any easier.

"I'm sorry." Richard's words helped a little. Even Ricky was quiet in the police car. But some short moments later, Richard cleared his throat. "We're going to need both of you to come with us, back to the station."

"What?" Fox felt the rumble of Wolf's voice. "I think we need to go to the hospital."

"I know, but afterwards . . . we need to have the whole story. I trusted you on a hunch earlier, but I don't know anything besides what you told me, or rather screamed at me, back in my office."

Fox heard a scowl, but Richard continued. "Relax. We had to handcuff this guy," he said, flicking his tail to a squirming Ricky in the back seat of the police car, "but I trust you. And an ambulance is on its way, Fox. Fox?"

It was because he kept his eyes closed. He opened one eye to see the concern on the police chief's muzzle. "Yeah, I heard Mr. Keith. It's just hard to make myself talk right now."

"I understand. And call me Richard."

That sounded familiar. "Richard, then."

Soon, a plethora of arms lifted him into the air — damn, his leg again — and laid him onto a hard stretcher. Someone was holding his leg in place, but by the time the ambulance started jerking around on the uneven road, it wasn't helping ease the pain one bit. He opened his eyes for a split second and counted at least six police cars, sirens blaring, in his escort behind him. Sending that many police officers couldn't have been standard protocol for dealing with one criminal, but then again, nothing that happened that day was exactly par for the course.

He tried to relax in the stretcher as best he could. He always knew he wouldn't live a normal, quiet life after the Lylat Wars and most recently, the Aparoid Invasion, but was this the unavoidable consequence of being James McCloud's son? Ricky, some hotshot businessman, was going to toss Fox around and use him until he landed in trouble himself, and then he was practically begging for help. Fox's mere existence pissed Pigma off so much that he threw away an impossible second chance at life just to seek vengeance. It was amazing how unexpected it all was. He wasn't sure if he could live a quiet life if he tried — well, he supposed he could move to some beach resort in Zoness and break off all his connections. But did he even want to? He was so used to being Corneria's Fox McCloud, son of James McCloud, as much as he hated it, that the thought of him being just some random fox with no responsibilities made him feel uneasy.

Honestly, he didn't have the energy to continue thinking about anything. He needed to sleep, and he _desperately_ needed painkillers.


	11. I'll Try Anything Once

With all the year long hiatuses I'd been taking, I thought I'd never finish this story, but after about 70 thousand words it's finally complete. Had I buckled down and written more consistently, this should have been finished in 2 months, but life distracted me numerous times. I'd love to be able to go back and edit the entire story (I might at some point when I have much more free time), but I figured at this point, it's best just to publish what I have. I'll do my best to take what I learned from writing this and apply it to my other writings.

I want to give a huge, special thank you for everybody that's stumbled across this fic at some point or another and reviewed it, favorited it, followed it, or even just read sections of it. Hearing feedback of any sorts, whether it's just a favorite button, a positive review, or an in-depth critique, helps my writing immensely, and I'm really glad that people are enjoying my stories.

Anyway, here it is, the final chapter of Reptilia.

* * *

_**I'll Try Anything Once  
**__Sit me down, shut me up  
__I'll calm down, and I'll get along with you_.

* * *

_If the chalice was supposed to be a teleportation device, it didn't work this time. After dipping his face into the liquid in the cup, nothing happened. He looked around the room, but it was all empty white space, and then he peered around the chalice, looking for a switch of sorts, but nothing was there. He wondered how toxic the liquid could be because he was seriously about to drink it, but when he took a sip, still nothing happened._

_So he was stuck in this stupid white room with no way out._

_He sat down facing the pedestal, chalice in hand. A vague reminder flickered in his mind that he was supposed to go to Fichina. It was a detour after flying through Meteo, but Venomian soldiers were holding the Fichinian Climate Control Center hostage, and there were rumors of Andross's ace mercenary team being there. Taking them out at Fichina would make the rest of their journey to Venom significantly easier._

_Those were the words of General Pepper. Not once was there an inkling of doubt in the hound's voice that McCloud and his team could carry out the mission. "Just take them out." Simple as that. But Pigma was supposed to be on the team, the man who betrayed his father — Fox felt his blood boil — and apparently, that wasn't even who Cornerian intelligence was worried about._

_But how was he supposed to get to Fichina if he was stuck here? He didn't even have a chance to carry out the mission; he was going to fail and let all of Corneria down. With a yell, he hurled the chalice at the wall, and it shattered without any liquid spilling out._

_He couldn't make sense of it, just as he couldn't make sense of the walls crumbling around him, the ground he sat on swirling underneath him, and his head spinning wildly in circles. When he regained his senses, he was sitting in his Arwing in some large hangar, gripping the joystick._

_He had to get out and fight someone. Slowing his breathing to keep his heart rate down, he exited his Arwing and stood facing the enemy aircraft, blaster drawn. His adversary exited his aircraft and mimicked his actions. Approximately 6'2'', gray fur, more muscular than Fox but still lean, likely just as nimble. He knew not to underestimate or overestimate his opponents, but he couldn't shake the thought in his head that all else equal, this man should win a fight based on physique alone._

_No matter. He couldn't have been as trained in combat as Fox was. The two inched towards each other, blasters pointed at each other's faces, until Fox noticed they were so close they could hear each other's breaths. Funny how Andross's purported ace in the hole probably passed him in the hallways daily in the Academy and he never bothered to notice—_

_A jab in the stomach left Fox keeled over, winded. He got distracted, damn it, and he wasn't going to let the second punch connect — he blocked it with his wrist and elbowed the man in the side. He barely flinched. Soon, an onslaught of kicks, punches, jabs, throws were traded between them. He could ignore the physical pain because he had to. He had to defeat his opponent._

_His body took over, and conscious action gave way to instinct. His body noticed the important details, like the small hesitation after the man curled his fists, or the time it took for the man's weight to rebalance after a high kick. Fox found himself tumbling to the ground with his rival, and Fox found his bearings first. He straddled the lupine, one hand gripping his neck, the other hand in a fist wailing down into the lupine's muzzle. Each punch reverberated dull pain into his knuckles, and unrecognizable fury took over him._

_He punched until he physically couldn't, then looked down. Fights in the school simulators never got to this point, where your opponent was a nearly unconscious heap of bloody fur underneath you. Fox wanted to throw up, but he couldn't. He drew his blaster at the man's chest. He'd won. Fox McCloud won. After this, he would return to the Great Fox, General Pepper would congratulate him for getting a crucial step closer to defeating Andross, and Corneria would revel in his victory. All that was remaining was to say a clever, heroic remark about the good of Corneria triumphing, and to pull the trigger._

_He watched the rising and falling of his rival's chest as he took slow breaths. Fox couldn't muster the words. The man's once confident face was now expressionless. Two violet eyes, one scarred, stared back at him, into his soul, and the only thing Fox could manage to say was, "Wolf O'Donnell. You went to school with me."_

_An eternity must have passed in this position, with Fox sitting, tapping the trigger on his blaster but not fully depressing it. Wolf closed his eyes underneath him. "Do it."_

_The words were hauntingly calm. It wasn't a taunt; it was an act of resignation. Fox's muscles locked in place and tensed — he couldn't move his damn finger, and the words were echoing in his head. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it._

_Air whipped around him, and his blaster flew out of his hands. His face slammed against the ground. He thought Wolf was already slipping into unconsciousness, but the man apparently had the strength to now pin Fox to the ground, nearly choking him. Something pressed against the back skull, and he heard the dull whirr of a blaster close to him. "You should respect your enemies more," Wolf said. His voice was low and gruff. "They might surprise you."_

_"Don't fucking give me advice." Fox twisted his body and snatched Wolf's wrist, hoping to catch him off guard, but an immense force slammed his head back into the ground. That alone nearly made him slip out of consciousness, and when his vision cleared, he found himself staring into Wolf's eyes, face to face with the man who was about to kill him. Wolf's gun was pointed at his neck. Fox recoiled, bracing himself for the pain of death._

_"If you want to kill Andross," Wolf said, his voice stressing the last two words. "You're going to need a lot more conviction than that." Wolf stood up and stared down at Fox, then walked away. The sound of boots stepping into the ground became more and more distant.. He scrambled to his feet, trying to assault Wolf, but the pain he'd been blocking out from the fight came rushing at him in full force, and he fell back to the ground. He inched his way forward to his blaster, but when he grabbed it and tried aiming it forward, his rival was already flying away in his ship._

_He pointed it at the wall and pulled the trigger to make sure it wasn't him, to check that it was a faulty blaster that the military issued him that let Wolf O'Donnell walk away and not his own inaction. A red shot of heat and energy struck the wall with a dull thud, and Fox stared at the space in the wall before drifting into unconsciousness._

* * *

The dream made Fox wake up in a cold sweat. Instinctively, he kicked the covers off his body before the pain reminded him that _oh yeah_, he's not supposed to be doing that. Irritated, he glanced down at the bandages on his right leg. Nothing had actually broken, but the deep flesh wounds and torn muscles still required medical treatment.

Carefully, he sat up on his bed and made his way to the bathroom, and after showering, brushing his teeth, and finishing his morning routine, he ended up back in his room, staring at the calendar on the wall. It was the fourth day since his encounter with Pigma. The first day he alternated from the hospital and the police station. The second day, despite his doctor's warnings of working his leg too much, he replaced the destroyed pictures of his father and cleaned his apartment, going so far as to steam the carpet and change the window curtains. The third day, he learned that Ricky was going to only be charged with invasion of privacy. In and of itself, the Aparoid development wasn't illegal, and after hearing that, Fox sulked in his bed for most of the day.

Today, there were two red Xs marked on his calendar. One, he immediately knew, was for the Cornerian Air Force's annual appreciation banquet. He almost looked forward to it, if nothing else for the change of pace. But the second X didn't register for a while, and when it did, Fox frowned. It was to mark the first day of Wolf's trial.

He didn't even remember pencilling that in, or why. It was probably right after they came back from Zoness, when the two were on best of terms. Now, it seemed like an awful idea to show up there — except with that thought, Fox felt a pang of guilt. Without Wolf, Pigma would have killed him yesterday. He at least owed it to Wolf to go to the trial and put in a good word to get his crimes cleared.

But then, what after that? Fox started getting dressed, putting on a white button down and pants. Wolf might become a free Cornerian citizen, but then would he still be expecting the same out of Fox? If he'd known two weeks ago that his rival had a crush on him, Fox would have thought it to be first preposterous, and second a hilarious way to finally have the upper-hand on the man after six years. Now, the thought worried him that the feelings might be mutual. It already didn't make sense, and it would have been a hell of a lot easier for Fox to continue his normal life and ignore Wolf O'Donnell like he'd been doing for the past six years. Besides, why waste all the energy trying to get back on Wolf's good side if his hopes were going to be crushed regardless?

He didn't know which thoughts to believe, and he sat staring at a wall, feeling stumped. Maybe just talking about his feelings would help get his thoughts in line. He never enjoyed the feeling of asking for advice — Fox felt like he should be able to deal with his own responsibilities without putting the burden on others — but he figured he'd suck it up, just this once. Falco would just dismiss his problems and tell him to get laid, Krystal would probably just read his mind and make him even more confused, and Peppy ought to be the most understanding — except his phone was off, and his new phone didn't have Peppy's office phone saved as a contact.

So he decided to call Krystal. At least her insight shouldn't be as strong if they weren't face to face. It took a couple of rings, and Fox worried that she wasn't awake yet or he'd dialed the wrong number, but finally the phone picked up, and the vixen on the other end of the line spoke. "Hello?"

"Hey, Krystal."

"Hey, Fox." He couldn't see her, but he imagined her smiling. "What did you need?"

"Am I that transparent? I only call you when I need something?"

Krystal laughed. "Well, no. But I figured you wouldn't want to just chat away. Most people text for that. So what's bothering you?"

Fox rummaged through his tie drawer, absentmindedly staring at the colors while he tried to think of how to present his thoughts. "If you weren't on the team right now, what would you be doing?"

There was a pause. "I'm not sure. I'd probably be working in the military or air force, though. Most of my knowledge comes from combat training, so I can't imagine a life without that. What about you?"

Something in the drawer caught his eye. "The same, I figure."

"Were you thinking about disbanding the team?"

"Gods, no," Fox said, maybe a little too quickly.

"Sorry, I'm not sure what you're thinking."

Fox picked up the crimson red scarf from the drawer and dangled it in front of his face. "Now you know how the rest of us feel." It was his father's signature scarf, the one that Peppy returned to him from Venom after the news that James was left for dead. He hadn't worn it in years, but he couldn't help himself from putting it around his neck. "Okay, I'd be lying if I said I never had thoughts about Star Fox disbanding. We don't do a ton aside from the occasional mission for the government."

"And saving the world."

"We could always come together when Lylat needs us." The scarf was a bit tight, and the wool was rough — how the hell did James wear this nearly every day? — but despite it being uncomfortable, Fox wanted to keep it on. "But I wasn't seriously considering disbanding any time soon, and besides, that's not why I called."

"Then what is it, Fox?"

He headed to his bathroom. "Can you imagine not being associated with Star Fox at all? Not being one of Lylat's heroes?"

Krystal paused. "You saved me on Sauria, so I can't imagine not being part of the team."

"But what if you never accepted my offer?"

"Star Fox is a part of me. Even if we disbanded, I wouldn't be able to forget about it. I don't think anyone could."

Fox stared at himself in the mirror, clad in an olive field jacket and his father's red scarf. It probably was too informal for the banquet that evening, but all the ministers and generals could deal with it. All the outfit was missing was sunglasses, and some witty quote about how to_ never give up, trust your instincts_, and he was practically James McCloud.

"I know Star Fox is a part of me," Fox finally said. "But sometimes . . . I wish it wasn't. Like, I can't even fathom running away on vacation for a month, or quitting the team and doing some menial job somewhere, because that's not who Fox McCloud is to everyone else, so that shouldn't be how the real Fox McCloud is. And the whole shtick of me being a hero and being impervious to failure gets old quickly."

"Not many people will get to know the real you, and that's fine. But you still love helping others, right?"

Fox paused in thought. "Right. And I love my job, and I love flying. I like being Fox McCloud I guess — I'm not depressed or anything, honest. But I hate how other people see Fox McCloud, and I hate how other people use me for nothing more than my status."

"People like Ricky?"

"Yeah, people like him who tell me I don't matter in the grand scheme of things, then come crawling to me the instant anything goes wrong. But it's not just him . . ." Fox felt his muscles tensing. "Even this fucking banquet — sorry — but what is this banquet honestly for? We don't need to be celebrated for the fifteenth time and there's a hell of a lot more productive things these organizations could be doing. But it's just an excuse for some stupid ministers and cabinet members to shake my hand and ask us to help them with whatever projects they're doing."

Silence. Then Krystal spoke, a bit softer. "It comes with the territory, Fox. You are an interplanetary hero, and while I'm sure people may be trying to manipulate you, a lot of people genuinely like you and simply want to talk."

"A lot of people like the _idea_ of me." Fox stared at himself in the mirror, green eyes gazing back at him. "But I'm sure if people knew I was just a bitter asshole, I wouldn't be so well-received."

Krystal chuckled. "I think you're a lot less bitter than you let on. Think of the things in life that made you happy this past week."

"Krystal—"

"Actually do it. Close your eyes and visualize."

Fox closed his eyes and tried. It was technically about a week and a half ago, but the first thing he thought of was walking into Peppy's new office, seeing his old friend enjoy his new life. Then of course, was flying, and granted he was out of form taking down those bandits for Ricky, but the feeling of soaring in his Arwing was indescribable. And back then, Ricky wasn't some scheming little canine but was a genuine man who Fox was helping, and advancing on their mission made him feel like he was doing some good.

And there was Wolf O'Donnell. His former rival transformed from a man who mysteriously saved his life to a sarcastic friend. He remembered playing — well, beating him in pool, and practically taking him on a date in Zoness, rowing a gondola idly across the river. Even though he tried to shun out the thoughts, the sensations of making out with him twice came back to him. Sure, it didn't make sense, but he couldn't deny the elation he felt, that he'd never felt that blissful kissing any of his former girlfriends, and that made him happy no doubt, but also confused, frustrated, nervous, and a slew of other emotions that Fox couldn't sort out.

"Now think of how all of that happiness outweighs the negatives you felt last week," Krystal said. "I couldn't think of a worse week for you, with you having to deal with Pigma wanting to kill you, but even then, I'd wager that you've felt a whole lot more good. You just never took the time to realize it."

"I hate to ruin your counseling trick, Krystal, but the problem is that one of those things that makes me happy isn't exactly . . . _compatible_ with the rest of my life."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean if people knew about . . . that aspect of me, it would shatter their perceptions of me. I wouldn't be Fox McCloud to them anymore."

"But you've been saying that people don't know the real you. So if that's an aspect of you and their perceptions change, it's their problem. Don't conform to their expectations."

Damn it, it made too much sense. "As much as I'd like to ignore everyone's opinions of me though, I can't. My life is kind of based around all of these people's perceptions of me, and if they saw me with h— with that person—" Shit. He already slipped up. "—then I don't know what my life would be like."

"Your life would change, sure, but that's a part of life. You seem to be afraid of change, and to some extent, everyone is, but you also don't seem to enjoy the state your life is in right now. You have to decide which direction your life will go and whether or not you'll risk change." Krystal paused, and it gave time for Fox to consider her words. Krystal saw her home planet completely destroyed, yet she was somehow more mentally put together than Fox was. The prospects of change haunted him, but he wasn't sure if he was being petty or if his concerns were legitimate. "It's up to you. I think you'll be fine either way, but if he makes you happy, then go for it."

Fox blinked. "What? How?"

He had to move the phone away from his ear because the laughs were so loud. "You're more readable than you think, Fox. I don't have to be there in person to pick up on the hints."

Fox felt his ears sinking back into his head. "So you don't think it's strange?" he asked. When Krystal didn't say anything in response, it was like she was forcing him to say the uncomfortable words. "That I'm attracted to him?"

"I don't think it's particularly strange, no. Although it would explain why _our_ relationship didn't work out too well."

Fox gritted his teeth. "That wasn't why — it's never been about women, or men, or anything. It's just Wolf. It doesn't make sense, I know, and . . ." He let out a strange whining noise. "I don't know if it can work."

"Are you asking me?"

Fox nodded, then realized Krystal couldn't see him, but she went on anyway. "If you're calling me about this, then I think you already know the answer to that. Whether or not it works is in your hands."

It seemed like a cliché answer, but when Fox bit his tongue and stopped himself from coming up with a complaint, he realized Krystal was right. It was his decision to do whatever the hell he wanted, and if that meant exploring a potential relationship with Wolf O'Donnell, as inane as it sounded, why not? "Thanks, Krystal," he said. "I'm glad we could talk."

"I'm glad you're glad," she replied. "And you're finally opening up."

The phone shut off with a click. Fox peered at himself for a second, the unmistakable son of James McCloud, before taking his keys and heading out the front door. He couldn't control people's thoughts of him, but he could control his own actions, and suddenly he found a new resolve to do what he needed to do.

* * *

That resolve dwindled the second he stepped into the Cornerian City Courthouse. Portraits of past Cornerian heroes hung on the walls, adding a touch of nationalistic fervor in the otherwise plain building. The secretary, the formally dressed canines walking by, and really all of Corneria weren't going to understand that Wolf wasn't an enemy to the Cornerian state, and even if he was acquitted of his past crimes, Fox couldn't shake the feeling that what he wanted would be shaming the nation.

The secretary directed him to the courtroom Wolf was in. Fox walked to the small lobby, and the only other person there had their face buried in a newspaper. The double doors were locked, and Fox was wondering if it was poor etiquette to walk into a trial midway through, when the man spoke to him. "Fox McCloud! What brings you here?"

It was Richard Keith who was reading the newspaper and was now smiling at Fox. "Hey, Richard. I just wanted to stop by and put in a good word for Wolf, maybe convince a couple of jurors."

"Even if this were a real trial, your plan wouldn't be legal," Richard said, setting his newspaper down. "Jurors are supposed to be impartial."

Fox frowned. "Then what is this?"

"There's no question that Star Wolf led criminal activity in Sargasso over the past years, and if those crimes were tried, they'd be jailed for life. Peppy and I had to convince Sabas and other Cornerian officials to hold this — really a debate between judges and public lawyers on whether or not to try the crimes in the first place or let them be absolved because of their heroic actions during the Invasion." Richard went back to his newspaper. "The general public would be upset that we're considering letting some of Corneria's most wanted free, but I feel that it's the morally correct thing to do."

Fox sat in a chair across from Richard, listening to the soft rumbles of voices in the room. "Do you think they've changed enough to be let go? That their actions during the Invasion weren't a one-time thing?"

"I've wondered that. Sabas always said anyone would have done what they did in their position. But I think Corneria owes them a chance. Wolf isn't the most likeable person I've met, but he has a good heart. Saved your life, after all."

Thinking about it, he and Wolf saved each other's lives countless times, especially for being supposed bitter rivals set to kill each other. "Yeah," Fox replied. "Are you waiting on Sabas?"

"Yes. Regardless of the outcome of this case, I need to talk to him about Ricky Von Spitze's case."

"Seeing if you can get more than just invasion of privacy?"

Richard shook his head. "Still doesn't look likely. But the breadth of his privacy invasion spanned across more of the company than we thought. He bugged countless workers, threatening people to keep his plan under wraps. Paranoid, ambitious little canine."

Fox nodded. He figured if Richard was waiting for Sabas, then the trial was close to over. He grabbed a newspaper, his eyes glazing over the words, not really comprehending anything he just read. A short while later, Maxwell Sabas and Wolf O'Donnell emerged from the double doors, the former wearing a scowl, and the latter wearing an _impeccable_ charcoal suit with a deep, purple tie. In another universe, Fox would have commented on how handsome he looked in it, but considering their past, it would be better to keep his mouth shut and avoid the awkward scenario.

Richard rushed to greet Sabas, and Wolf approached Fox, eyebrow raised. "Why are you here?"

He almost expected more animosity, but the words still stung. "Geez, Wolf. Back to hating me again?"

His attempt at playful humor fell short. "I figured you were the one that hated me," Wolf said, fixing his cufflinks. "You didn't return my calls."

"I didn't even know. I destroyed my old phone so Pigma couldn't track it, so I have a new phone and number now. And I don't hate you. I was going to put in a good word for you to Sabas over there — figured it was the least I could do. But uhh, I was a bit late for that."

Wolf brushed fur off of the lapels of his suit. "Didn't end up mattering anyway. Everything got cleared."

"Great!" Fox didn't mean to say it so enthusiastically — it just happened. His reaction made Wolf smile, and Fox wanted to savor the momentary feeling of elation, but he knew he had to keep talking. "And I also came because I wanted to give a formal thank you for saving my life." He scratched the back of his neck. "I guess I'm bad at asking people for help."

Wolf scoffed. "You figure?"

He resisted the urge to come up with some excuse about why he didn't want to endanger anybody else or how he was fine killing Pigma alone, and he only said, "Yeah. I'm trying to work on it."

Glancing over, he saw Richard and Sabas leaving around the corner in heated conversation, leaving Fox and Wolf alone in the lobby. Maybe the silence didn't make Wolf feel uncomfortable, but it sure as hell made Fox feel that way. Wolf didn't have Krystal's supernatural insight, so it wasn't as if Fox had to protect his thoughts, but he didn't want to commit to thinking about what he truly came here for. It was as if Wolf's heterochromatic eyes were peering into his brain and reading the thoughts in his mind.

"Did you drive here?" Fox finally committed to asking, and when Wolf shook his head no, he followed up with, "Can I take you home?"

Wolf furrowed his eyebrows. "You don't have to."

"I want to," Fox said before he could rethink his word choice.

" . . . fine, then."

At least a long car ride would give Fox time to get his thoughts in order. They walked out of the courthouse and back into the chilly, dry air outside. "How come you never drive, anyway?" Fox asked. "I'm always taking you places."

He heard footsteps stop behind him. "Honestly, I can just take the subway back."

"_Relax_. It's the least I could do after you rescued me the other day." They both started walking again, getting close to Fox's parked car. "I was just curious, is all."

"Driving sucks; I already told you I'm awful at it. I nearly killed you that time you, uhh . . ." The words seemed to die on Wolf's lips, and Fox didn't know what to say to break the silence. He opened the car door and flopped in. It wasn't as if he could go his whole life ignoring that at one point, he and Wolf nearly had sex, but the reference was still strange.

It wasn't until they drove off and were nearly on the highway until Wolf continued his thoughts. "What I did the other night at the bar . . . was really scummy. I knew what I was doing, but still . . . I get stupid horny when I'm drunk." He let out a forced laugh. "I shouldn't have kissed you."

That was as close to an apology as he was going to get with Wolf O'Donnell — Fox accepted it all the same. "You shouldn't have to apologize for having feelings for me." The words sounded as weird as Fox thought they would. "If anything, I should be apologizing for being an asshole in your house."

"I was the bigger asshole that night too."

"We're both awful people, how about that?" When Wolf didn't respond, Fox risked glancing over, but Wolf's eyes were glued forward on the road. "Listen, Wolf—"

"Drop it. I know what you're going to say." He heard an exhale. "Yeah it's weird between us, but this is honestly better than what I was expecting. I'm fine with how things are now."

It was so easy in his bathroom mirror to know what he was going to say, but faced in the moment, it was as if his vocal cords didn't work. "I guess I was stupidly horny too," he managed. "And I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel something then, but uhh . . . damn it. Anything serious would be difficult, and—"

"I said I'm fine with how things are now."

Wolf stated it with an air of finality, and Fox gave up stressing his mind. He cursed himself for being weak, for missing his golden opportunity to tell Wolf that he reciprocated his feelings.

But at the same time, Wolf gave him a free pass out, and in some way Fox thought that could have been what he wanted. Maybe his drunk self was confusing his pent up sexual frustrations with his platonic interests. Wolf didn't have to be a romantic partner for Fox to see him as just as interesting, to laugh at his sarcastic humor, or to enjoy his presence. Besides, as Krystal said, his life was fine how it was. No use throwing everything to the wayside to risk a nonsensical relationship that wouldn't work.

He almost believed those thoughts and hoped that they would give him closure, but of course it was futile. _Never give up, trust your instincts._ Except he didn't even know what his instincts were, his fur was still prickling in confusion, and strange thoughts were digging into his brain. "You're not in a rush to get home, right?" Fox asked. "'Cause there's a nice coffee shop on this side of town, and I could really use a pick-me-up."

Wolf glanced at him for a few seconds before replying. "Sounds fine."

He turned off the highway, hoping it would be easier to talk over coffee, or at least out of his car. For a while he worried if the shop was still intact — he hadn't been there in months, since the Invasion — but a few minutes later he pulled up to the unassuming brick building of Oak and Willow.

"_This_ place?" Wolf said, getting out of the car. "Well isn't Fox high-maintenance."

Fox laughed. In hindsight, paying upwards of 12 credits for a cup of coffee probably wasn't worth it, but when the aroma of ground coffee and vanilla hit his nose, he changed his mind. The barista, a small otter, beamed with a smile when he saw Fox enter.

"Well well well, if it isn't Fox McCloud!" He turned, and his smile faded just a little. "And I swear you look just like—well, if you had the eyepatch anyway . . . "

If Wolf was bothered by this, he didn't show it. After the otter returned with their drinks, they sat outside on the patio. This part of town was rather quiet, and save the occasional chugging of tires against half-melted snow, the loudest sound was the sizzling of their coffee.

Wolf glanced down at Fox's drink — a latte macchiatto — and smirked. "Seriously? That's not coffee, that's sugar and whipped cream."

Fox took a sip and exaggerated a pleased sigh. "It's good sugar and whipped cream. What'd you get?"

"Just a dark roast."

"Trade." Wolf raised an eyebrow, and Fox worried that Wolf would misconstrue his intentions, but they swapped cups and Fox took a drink of the bitter, black coffee. The taste wasn't intolerable, but he couldn't imagine drinking a cup of the stuff. It was Wolf that visibly shuddered and put down the drink.

"Gods, that's awful," he said, handing Fox his sugar-and-whipped-cream. Fox could only laugh, and they sat there for a few moments in silence, drinking coffee. It gave Fox time to think, which probably wasn't for the best. Talking with Wolf felt comfortable as ever, but it was only when it was silent did Fox's brain overanalyze every movement he made and fret about what he was going to say next. Lost in his own thoughts, Fox wondered if Wolf was as cautious in his actions or how realistic their current "friendship" was going to—

"Hey," Fox said, getting his brain to shut up, "what are you going to be doing now?"

"Huh?"

"I mean, you're a Cornerian citizen with no criminal charges. You don't have to worry about living under the wraps like at Sargasso. You can just do whatever." Fox glanced over to the wooden doors of the shop. "Hell, you could be a barista."

Wolf scratched his chin. "Haven't thought of it much. And I'd kill myself before I did anything as trite as that."

"Hey, someone has to."

"Do you know how embarrassing it would be, for the great crime lord Wolf O'Donnell—" at this, Wolf pointed at himself, "—to be serving cheap Cornerian coffee?"

Fox chuckled. "Alright, so what important jobs can_ Lord O'Donnell _fill?"

" . . . well I dunno. Public policy is probably out of the question, considering my past."

That was the first sign of him being at all bothered by the barista's actions earlier. "There's a chance. The Cornerian Secretary of State cheated on three different wives," Fox said. "And there's a guy accused of two separate murders who's still a senator."

Wolf glanced at him. "None of them worked for Andross and nearly cost Corneria the war."

"None of them saved Lylat's lives against the Aparoids."

A smile started to form on Wolf's muzzle. "I suppose. But do you honestly see me as a senator?"

His charcoal suit made it easy for Fox to imagine it — Wolf standing at the floor of parliament, bickering with other MPs about some silly political issue — and he chuckled more than he thought he would. "Kind of. You'd beat most of them in arguments, at least."

"I'd probably punch most of them out before I listened to them talk for half a minute."

"Keep trying to act tough, _crime lord_," Fox said, drawing out the words, "but from what I know, you're all bark and no bite."

Wolf raised an eyebrow and gave Fox a quizzical look that said, "Really?" and Fox nodded, laughing. Both of their smiles lingered for a bit too long, and for a brief moment, Fox felt those unidentifiable, elusive thoughts digging at his mind again, but he dismissed it. "Anyway," Fox continued, "what else do you do? What hobbies do you have?"

Wolf brought a paw to his muzzle, thinking for a second, then looked back at Fox. "You wouldn't believe me, but before the Lylat Wars, I used to be a journalist."

Fox blinked. "You're right. No way in hell do I believe that."

"Fine, I used to be an intern at a newspaper."

"That's completely different," Fox said, and Wolf roared in laughter. "Besides, I can see you being prime minister before I see you as a Dan McHollan type journalist."

Wolf shrugged. "Maybe. But, well . . . shit, I can't think of much else I've done besides mercenary work and maintaining Sargasso. I suppose Star Wolf can just get contracted on missions, but only sketchy people will hire us."

"Like Ricky."

"He's the best we've had in a while," Wolf said, and when Fox looked taken aback, Wolf continued. "At least he paid us."

Fox never thought of what most considered the real underbelly of the mercenary world, where teams often got scammed or turned in doing dirty jobs. "I'm sure I could put in a good word with some government officials for you guys."

"That's doing too much." Wolf paused for a second, contemplating. "Besides, I'm not even sure about that. Panther'll probably quit the team, go back to whatever his old job was. And I never know what in the hell Leon's doing."

"Our team isn't as close together as you might think," Fox said. "I mean, we've never lived together outside of missions, so I'm not really sure what Falco, Slip, or Krystal do in their free time. But we still come together every couple of weeks for random missions. I'm sure the mercenary thing could still work out for you guys."

Wolf took what sounded like the last drink of his coffee and then looked at Fox for a while. "So what about you? What do you plan on doing after this mercenary stint's over?"

"Over?" Even during the times Fox thought about disbanding the team, he never thought he would stop doing mercenary work. Flying was his life. "My father was in his 40s," he said, tugging at his scarf, "and he was the best pilot in Lylat's history."

"You're a hell of a lot better," Wolf said, and for a moment Fox didn't recognize the honest compliment. "But were you planning on being a mercenary into your 40s?"

"I don't know. Maybe I'd go teach for the Academy, or something."

"So more of the same. Still flying, huh."

"It's kinda who I am." Fox started adjusting the scarf around his neck, memories of his father coming back to him. "You want to know something lame? I never considered even being a pilot until right when I turned twelve. Everyone in primary school kept comparing me to my dad, and I was tired of it; I just wanted to be like most other kids and be a firefighter, or a mathematician, or something."

Wolf scoffed. "Do most young foxes dream of being mathematicians?"

Fox ignored that. "It wasn't until my dad took me on a flight around Corneria City on his Arwing that I realized how amazing flying was. Soaring in the air, with everything spinning underneath me. It felt surreal, and I begged my dad to let me apply for the Flight Academy instead of secondary school. I finished my application two days before the deadline, and I had below average scores on most of the physical exams, but I was still accepted."

Wolf sat in silence for a bit, looking down at the table. "It's crazy," he finally said, "how inconsequential shit like that snowballs into something huge. If James never took you on that flight, we'd probably all be dead."

Even though he tried to say it jokingly, Fox picked up on the sincerity in his words. "Have you ever thought about that? Like in your past, what if something stupidly small but different happened, and you never ended up where you are today?"

Wolf seemed to ponder for a bit, but he then shook his head. "No point in thinking it, really. The past is done; you just have to make what you can out of now."

"True, but have you ever just had the thoughts?"

Wolf paused. "Yeah." He shifted in his seat and dodged Fox's eye-contact. "Sometimes I wonder, I could have ended up in the Cornerian military. Or . . ."

He didn't finish his thought, so Fox interjected. "Because I've thought about it before. I never talked to you in the Academy, but if I had sat with you at lunch one day. Or I don't know, some other inconsequential shit—" Fox mimicked Wolf's word choice "—maybe you'd be the fifth member of Star Fox. Or at least, you wouldn't have been my rival for six years."

He waited for a response. "Yeah, I've thought of it," Wolf said. "But honestly, I was an arrogant little bitch in the Academy, so I wouldn't have listened to you anyway."

Fox smirked. "Are you saying you aren't still an arrogant little bitch?"

"Ouch, Fox." Wolf returned the smile. "Fair enough, but I was even more arrogant and more bitchy back then. Serious, you wouldn't recognize me."

"Well, until two weeks ago I never knew what to expect from you. With all the headlines I read about the _Fox McCloud of Venom_, I thought you'd be some despicable, evil bastard. Not a sarcastic wolf trying too hard to be badass."

"Hey," Wolf said, huffing his chest. "I _am_ a badass."

They erupted in laughter for what seemed like the millionth time. Looking into Wolf's eyes, Fox felt almost ashamed — how could he have been misunderstanding Wolf for so long? Sure, they were on opposite sides of a conflict six years ago, but they were more similar than he'd expected. His dream from the past night flickered back into memory, and he wondered if Wolf was just as naive as he was during the Lylat Wars.

"Do you remember," Fox started, "when we first fought each other? In Fichina."

Wolf's smile started to fade. "Yeah."

"You had a blaster to my head. You could've killed me."

" . . . yeah, could've. Didn't."

Fox scratched his arm, looking for the words. "I don't think I ever got over being outplayed like that."

Wolf crossed his arms. "You mean your reason for the entire rivalry was cause you were pissed that I didn't kill you?"

"Not exactly, but kind of." Wolf frowned, and Fox tried to explain himself more. "I mean, how was I not supposed to be pissed off? My entire life everyone's telling me that I'm great, I'm Fox McCloud, I'm James McCloud's son, and the planet's relying on me for the war, and I failed my first test—"

"Stop," Wolf interrupted. "You aren't your father."

Fox became aware of the red scarf scratching at the fur on his neck. "I know, it's just—"

"I'm serious. You're the best damn thing to happen to Lylat, and I'm not just saying that because you keep saving everyone's lives. You don't have to be the hero all the time. You're already incomparable."

Wolf glanced back down and played around with his empty coffee cup, leaving Fox there staring at the space in front of him, mouth agape. He couldn't ever imagine Wolf saying such a genuine, kind thing so casually. Fox tried opening his mouth to thank him, but he wasn't sure if he could without his voice cracking and him embarrassing himself, so he sat in silence and lost himself in thought.

The words he said to Krystal earlier today replayed in his ears. "Is it weird that I'm attracted to him?" He mulled over the word _attraction _and its implications for a few moments before finally, the elusive thought nagging at his brain all day set in — Fox wanted to punch himself for not noticing earlier. He hadn't been enjoying their time together in spite of it being Wolf, he had enjoyed it _because_ it was Wolf, and at that realization, he smiled.

"Thank you, Wolf," he said. "For everything." They'd finished their drinks for at least fifteen minutes now, and when Fox checked his watch, it was already 5:35. He'd probably be late for the dinner, which wasn't a huge deal, but he figured he'd better get going by now. He stood up, and Wolf followed suit. "Ready to go?"

Wolf nodded, and they headed back to Fox's car. On the road, Fox noticed his own demeanor changed a little. His posture was better, his tail moved more freely — but if he was acknowledging full well that he was attracted to Wolf, why couldn't he just say it? Krystal picked up on his interest in Wolf over the past week, and maybe other Cornerian leadership would too, although they'd think his interest was for entirely different reasons.

With horror, he noticed that they were already parked at Wolf's house, and Wolf was taking off his seatbelt. His chance was slipping away from him. "Thanks for the coffee," Wolf said, opening the door. "And let me know before you accept any missions from strange businessmen, so I can save your ass again."

Fox forced a chuckle, but Wolf was already out, closing the car door. _Shit_. He stared forward at the road, rolling expanses of snow in the horizon. He figured this wouldn't be his last encounter with Wolf, but right now he couldn't help but remember his first real encounter with Wolf. Not during the Lylat Wars, when he saw only in Wolf the personification of an evil enemy, but during the Invasion, when he actually started to consider who the real Wolf O'Donnell was.

_When the time comes, don't hesitate, just act._

Heart racing, Fox got out of his car and sprinted to Wolf's front door before Wolf himself could get there. He turned his back to the door and spread his arms, blocking it. When Wolf raised an eyebrow, Fox explained himself. "You never gave me your number for my new phone," he said. "So if my ass needs saving, I'm kinda screwed."

Wolf bit his lip. "Honestly, I didn't think you'd want it. After, uhh . . . "

The perfect words seemed to appear in front of him. "I thought I've been painfully obvious this entire time," Fox muttered, mimicking Wolf's low voice, and at this, Wolf's eyes widened. "But I guess you can't take a hint."

Before he could overthink it, he pulled Wolf's face closer and met his lips for a kiss, drinking in the sensation. It was like the final takeoff, like soaring back home after a long, successful mission. It was that, times a thousand. Fox moved his hand under Wolf's blazer, tracing the defined muscles underneath his shirt. He was pushed against the door as Wolf's lips pressed harder, and his hands wrapped around his waist.

It was Wolf that finally pulled away from the kiss, leaving Fox with what he knew was a really dumb smile on his face. "What . . ." Wolf looked at a loss for words. "You were the one that said it would be difficult."

"Defeating the Aparoids was difficult," Fox said. "But I still did it."

Wolf snorted. "Gods, Fox, I can't take you seriously." The lupine looked like he was containing his excitement, trying to pull off the tough Wolf O'Donnell persona, but his adorable, wagging tail was giving him away. "Why the change of heart?"

"I'm tired of overthinking what will happen next, or what will change in my life." Fox placed a hand on Wolf's shoulder. "My instincts have gotten me this far. I'm just going to do what makes me happy. And you said it yourself. I'm done fretting about what people think is acceptable behavior for Fox McCloud, or if makes sense for me to like you, or—"

Wolf interrupted him with a kiss of his own. It was short, but afterwards, Fox was pulled into a tight embrace. "Well, you've made pretty damn happy," Wolf said, and Fox felt his voice reverberating through his body. He sat there for a moment, taking in and enjoying the lupine's distinct, masculine scent.

Fox pulled himself away briefly and handed Wolf his phone. "But seriously," he said, "I need your number. Who knows if I run into a strange businessman this week, or if I get crazy plans for dinner with a certain lupine tomorrow evening."

"Are you asking me on . . ." Wolf stopped himself, then put his number in Fox's phone and smiled. "I'm going to have to check my busy schedule. I'm pretty booked, you know."

"Shut up."

"Alright, alright," Wolf handed the phone back to Fox. "As long as you pick the restaurant." Wolf made a motion for the door handle, and Fox scooted out of the way. After unlocking the door and opening it, he turned back to Fox. "See you later, then," he said, and after thinking a while, added, "_pup_."

Fox laughed. "I'll call you tomorrow, _badass_."

Soon, Wolf disappeared into his house, but his scent and the sensation of the last couple of minutes lingered in the air. Fox forced himself to walk back to his car, and once inside, he couldn't resist shouting in joy. His mind was still whirling, and even though he was concerned about the logistics of their relationship, or how in the hell he'd control himself at the banquet in an hour, he knew he made the right choice.

As he started the car and pulled out of the neighborhood, Fox tried to control his ecstatic feelings and think why the hell he'd been wallowing in his own bitterness for so long. Over the past month he'd been only focusing on the negatives, but now he realized Krystal's technique was effective; when he looked at the positives, he couldn't have asked for a better January. He saved the Lylat System from an Aparoid Invasion, watched a close friend become General of the Cornerian Army, uncovered an enormous aerospace industry scandal, killed Pigma Dengar, and had the most explosive kiss of his life with none other than Wolf O'Donnell.

What a month.

* * *

It's been my mission this past month to finish this story, and it's all over now. Thanks again to all of my readers! I love all the feedback you can give, and don't be afraid to let me know what you enjoyed or what was questionable,

If you're interested in my writing, I do have stories I'm working on after this. One is sort of a continuation of Reptilia that keeps the focus on Fox and Wolf's new relationship and the massive political problems that come in a post-war solar system (probably with heavier focus on the latter), and the other is a detailed account of Wolf's life before and leading up to the Lylat Wars, how he became the leader of the system's most feared mercenary team, and how an entire solar system descended into a massive war. I'll probably be posting chapters of both and updating them at the same time, so be on the lookout for that if you're interested.

Again, thank you for reading!


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